


On Mountaintops in Russia

by Thatlassiegotglassed



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Once Upon a Time (TV), World Is Not Enough (1999)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anyelle, Espionage, F/M, Romance, renbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 82,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatlassiegotglassed/pseuds/Thatlassiegotglassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After recently being promoted, Agent Belle French has the life of adventure she's always wanted in the hands of Britain's MI6. But when a crazed Ex-Military Assassin tries to take down the Russian government can she foil his plot or will she help him achieve it? (Renard/Belle; OUAT/James Bond Crossover)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Agent 009

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this title graphic created by the lovely Midstorm! She's awesome guys check her out.
> 
>  

Chapter 1:

This was not the first time she had been cuffed to a chair. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes as she moved her wrists against the metal, testing the durability. They held; she was not surprised. The small ear bud was almost invisible under the edge of her braid and she winced as it issued a squeak. She had suspected it had been damaged in her scuffle earlier and her captors had managed to miss it while they detained her. How clumsy of them. However, it had been squeaking for the past hour off and on as she suspected the agency was trying to reach her through the broken bit of equipment. She wished she could free her hands if only to rip the damn thing out of her ear.

After another squeak, it crackled to life and the message, however broken, could be heard well enough. "A…Agent." Static. "Are you." More static. "Over."

"Go again mum," she said as the last part fizzled out.

There was a pause and a click before the old woman's voice came through almost without a hitch. "Agent French, are you hurt?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head even though the people on the other side couldn't see. "No. I'm fine. Just detained."

"Where are you?"

Looking around the room, she gave them as much detail as possible. Though the damp walls of the windowless room and the one lamp sitting on the floor in the corner were nothing to go by and she knew that. This was one she would have to get out of on her own. She tried the cuffs again and there was still no movement, she huffed once more and stomped her foot, it did nothing of course but it made her feel better.

"B-Belle." A man's voice this time. He was young and the slightest bit timid but behind that voice was one of the brightest minds she had ever known.

"I'm listening." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes trying to think as well as listen to the words that were coming out of her ear.

"Are you wearing your mother's ring?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward. What kind of question was that? She never went anywhere without it, most nights keeping it on in the shower, only to part with it when it came time to have it cleaned.

"Q, what are you playing at? Of course I'm-…" she started before he cut her off.

"Good. Now listen, take it off and underneath the stone there should be a small nub. Hold your thumb over it for three seconds before pushing it up. You'll feel it click." He talked quickly, knowing time was of the essence.

She did as he asked and slid the ring off of her finger, careful to keep a tight hold on it, if she dropped it she might have lost her last hope. She closed her eyes as she slid her thumb around the inside of the band, feeling for the spot under the stone. Once she located it she held her thumb in place and counted, 'One…two…three.' She applied pressure to the nub and it clicked, just like he said it would.

His voice came back over her earpiece and she could hear a smile in his tone, "There you are you little minx."

She laughed softly and shook her head, "A tracking device Q? How on Earth did you-…"

"You get your ring cleaned on the 1st of every other month. I chose that moment to strike. Honestly Agent French you shouldn't be so predictable." He chuckled as he began to type quickly at a keyboard and she could imagine him working furiously in front of multiple screens, locating her coordinates. Even though she was not out of the woods yet, she felt her shoulders relax at the thought that her location was now known back at base.

"What would I do without you Q?" she smiled and asked into the open air.

"If I had a euro for every time I heard that one from one of you buggers." He grumbled playfully and she laughed again, imagining the glares he was getting from their boss.

"Who the bloody hell are you talking to?"

She looked up as the door opened and her captors strolled in. They had heard her talking to Q and either they thought she was mentally unstable or they knew she had connections to the outside and the jig was up.

"Agent French, who is that? Agent French, don't let them-…" Q said quickly with the first hint of fear in his voice before the man reached into Belle's braid and pulled out the ear piece, smashing it under his boot. Belle bit her lip, there went her contact; her only hope was that they would hurry up.

The man came to stand in front of her as his lackeys stood on each side of the door, guarding it. His greasy hair fell around his face in matted sections as he looked at her with a snarl full of multiple metal teeth. Belle had worked in the field long enough to know she wasn't dealing with the man she had came for. The man she had been after was behind multiple bombings on the south side of London and she knew, just by looking, that her captor was a decoy. A scapegoat for any official who came looking to capture, interrogate and dispose of.

He backhanded her firmly and stood back up, motioning his men to leave. She turned her head with the slap but remained silent and watched as the men closed the door behind them.

"Di' you think dat you could get de better of me, little one?" his Russian accent was thick and he lit a cigar and plopped it between his lips with a smirk.

Belle turned her head slowly and glared at him. She hated being called 'little'. Keeping her composure she said firmly, "Actually, I was hoping to get the better of your employer."

He raised an eyebrow, looking confused and blew a ring of smoke in her face. "My employer? I work for no one."

She let out a laugh, so abrupt that he looked shocked. "Right. You organized the attacks on parliament, while coinciding multiple distractions within the city to rob a science lab of its plutonium?" She shook her head, "I don't think so."

"And why not?!" He clenched his fists and glared at her with outrage.

"Two words…" Belle paused and heard shots down below, the cavalry was here. She smirked and leaned in closer to him like she was telling a secret, "Too. Stupid."

He dropped his cigar and lunged at her in anger and she used his own momentum against him. Pulling her feet up together, she kicked him hard in the chest, sending him stumbling and slamming her chair back against the floor at the same time. The chair broke into several pieces as she worked her handcuffed arms under her hips and around her ankles until they were in front of her. She was still cuffed but this was a start. She scrambled to her feet and straddled his chest, punching him in the face and keeping him pinned. He fought her and her weight was no match for his, she was going to have to be creative. She looked to her left and saw his smoking cigar lying on the stone floor. Grabbing it she brought it down on his right eye and pressed, holding steady as he squirmed and yelled beneath her while it seared his flesh.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the wall. She hit her head and gave a small cry as she fell to the ground on her hands and knees. The moment that it took her to recover gave him enough time to stand and rush for her again, his eye a bloody mass, mixing with the ash on his cheek from the cigar.

"You stupid wench! I-…" Three shots fired into his body and he jerked with each one before falling face down on the stone in front of her. Belle raised her head slowly, looking through the fallen pieces of her braid to the now open door way.

A man in a well tailored suit stepped into the room and spoke into his wrist as he looked at Belle, "Yes mum. I got her." He paused and looked her over with a smile. "Well she could use a bath, but she's alive."

Belle shook her head and stood up slowly, walking over to him and smiling into his ice-blue eyes. "Un-cuff me Bond." She held her hands out in front of her body and pulled the chain tight.

"Are you sure, love? We could have had so much fun with these." He smiled again, flashing pearl-perfect teeth. Placing a hand on her wrist, he placed the barrel of the gun against the chain and fired, the bullet lodging in the floor as the chain split in two.

She ruffled his short, dirty blonde hair and walked out of the room. She knew his playfulness was just that, nothing more. That's who Bond was, that was his game. And she could play just as well as the boys. "In your dreams Sparky," she called over her shoulder as she straightened her crinkled blouse and strutted out of her former prison, knowing full well that her fellow agent was on her heels.

Belle walked into the tech room of MI6 and everyone in the room lifted their gaze to her as the click of her heels echoed on the tiled floor. She was filthy. Covered from head to toe in dust, mud and specks of blood that was, for the most part, not hers. She needed a bath and a good night's sleep but first she had to report, be debriefed and checked over. Making her way to the large screens in the front room, she smiled as she approached the man at the desk. He was thin; wearing well fitted jeans and a sharp looking vest with matching bow tie. After muttering a string of quiet curses to the computer at his hands, he shoved his thick rimmed, yet very stylish, glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued clacking at the keyboard.

"Q…" she said his code name gently and stayed where she was, giving him a warm smile.

He froze, his hands positioned at the keyboard and spun around to look her over. "Belle." He said softly, before going to her without a moment's hesitation and wrapping his arms around her and picking her up just enough to spin her.

She laughed and put her arms around his neck, he held her tighter than was necessary and she felt him let out a shaky sigh. Her smile faltered for only a second as she patted his hair and said gently, "I'm alright Q. It looks worse than it really is, I promise."

He set her down and looked her over with a concerned look before clearing his throat and releasing her. Straightening his coat, he noticed they had attracted a small crowd. "Alright, back to work everyone."

Everything resumed as normal and she smiled again. He had shown more affection than an agent ever should but he had been worried about her. She had been gone for days, thought dead at one point; he needed conformation that she was still real and she didn't fault him for that. With Q it wasn't romantic, this was not the business you wanted to be in if you dabbled in such emotions. No, with Q it was as if they were kindred spirits. They were both exceptionally intelligent and fought for their positions among the ranks of their more "spy-like" colleges. Belle had only recently broken away from the tech department and entered the field once they realized she had a knack for combat, an eye for strategy and feel for how to negotiate; all three were essential to survival in MI6.

She had grown close to Q, having trained him to be the main quartermaster for the agency, and she often missed her old department but craved the adventure that her new one had to offer. Belle watched over her friend's shoulder as he typed in codes for her records with a diligence that she both admired and respected. The glass doors whooshed open and everyone who was not an agent stood a little straighter and some even gave a small salute as their boss walked through the doors.

'M', or mum to the all the agents, was head of the whole department. She was an elderly woman, about five foot two inches, with snow white hair, cut clean and short. Prim, proper and tough as nails, with green eyes like a hawk and a voice that could be both gentle and sharp simultaneously. The British government trusted her with their security and everyone in this room trusted her with their lives.

"Agent French!" she barked as she walked across the room, her gray pumps giving small clicks on the tile, her gray pants suit tailored to perfection. What was it with this department and gray? Belle straightened and turned to her. The old woman smiled, "You look like hell."

Belle's shoulders relaxed and she let out a small laugh, "Thank you mum. It means job well done, doesn't it?"

"That it does. That it does." She walked over and patted Q on the shoulder before muttering just loud enough he could hear her, "Well done."

Belle smiled at Q and mouthed a 'thank you' before turning and following the smaller woman out the glass doors and up the stairs into the main part of the building. The lavish building was decorated in browns with golden trim and Belle had no idea how it stayed so clean all the time. They walked into M's large office.

"Would you like a drink?" she looked to Belle and motioned to the tray for her to help herself.

Belle nodded and did just that, after the week she had, she needed it. She dropped a few cubes of ice into her short glass, pouring about two inches of scotch in the bottom.

"My dear, we thought you were dead. It's quite a relief for you to be standing here." M started as she sat behind her desk and pulled out paperwork.

"Do you have so little faith in me mum?" Belle smiled as she said and sat down in front of the desk and crossed her legs. She felt bad for sitting in the nice chairs while she was covered in dust and blood but she was tired, surely the cleaning crew would forgive her.

"Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about," she paused and laced her fingers together before placing her hands on the stack of papers. "My faith in you grows stronger every month Belle and I think it is time."

Belle sat up and put her glass down on the edge of the desk. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. It was too soon.

Her boss slid over an official looking piece of paper to her and held out a pen. "Sign on the line and you will be given full status…Agent double-0 nine."

She looked at the piece of paper and then up at her boss. Double-0 status. It was finally happening. What she had wanted more than anything since she walked in the doors of MI6 as a temp was to be a full time agent, an elite, one of the very best. She took the pen gingerly and signed her name, looping her L's gracefully before sitting the pen back on the desk and letting her lips form a proud smile. Belle French, Agent 009…she liked the sound of that.


	2. Bravery is What She Does Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Alright so on with the show. Chapter one has gotten some notice on Tumblr but if you guys like it let me know. I'm having fun with this one and the plot is slowly laying itself out in my head; so in short, I am going to finish it no matter what. For those of you who have never seen "The World Is Not Enough" the background information could prove useful BUT I tried my best to explain the situation of Elektra King so as to give everyone a sense of what is going on even if you haven't seen the movie.
> 
> That being said, if something is confusing, leave it in the review and I will address it in another chapter! (Also, The World is Not Enough is super good and Bobby is sexy so you should go watch it anyway.)
> 
> Thanks guys. Also I still do not own anything that is Once Upon a Time or James Bond related.

Chapter 2:

The machine to his right issued a small beep as the x-ray finished and the doctor flipped back on the lights, reentering the room. His patient rose from the table and turned his head, popping his neck and wincing gently before standing up. The man put back on his leather jacket and ran his hand over his buzzed hair before turning and addressing the doctor.

"What did you see?" he asked in a light Russian accent that had faded from too much time spent away from his home country.

The doctor trembled as he pulled the x-rays out of an envelope and put on his glasses with his free hand. His patient was not a man to be kept waiting and the doctor's silence infuriated him as he strode across the room.

"I said…what did you see?" he asked again as the doctor began to shake harder, his lips moving like a fish as they tried to form words. The other man pulled the x-ray out of his hand and gripped his lab coat, balling the material in his fist and snarling in his face before letting him go so forcefully, he fell to the ground. The stronger man held up the flimsy piece of black film to the light and looked at the negative image of his skull.

The bullet lodged in the center of his brain, which caused his nervous system to malfunction, had moved down towards the stem. This was bad. He had been told it couldn't be removed but what happened once it slipped enough to damage something more than just his sense of touch?

He looked at the small doctor on the ground and lowered his arm that held the x-ray. "You will find a way to remove it…or…" He let his words drop off as he let the x-ray fall to the ground and his fingers formed a gun and he aimed it at the doctor's head, foreshadowing the price of failure.

Belle shut her locker firmly and glanced in the mirror. She held a bobby pin between her lips as she braided her hair in a French braid tight against her scalp. Sliding the bobby pin in place, she decided it looked good enough. After putting a leather bound binder under her arm, she walked out of the agent locker room and got on the elevator.

She was on her way to meet M and be debriefed on the contents of the binder. This was her first case as a Double-oh and though she had gone through hundreds of these meetings, this one was bound to be different. Walking down the hall she was stopped as the doors to the old woman's office opened and she walked out with Bond at her heels.

"Ah good, French. We were just coming to find you. No need to sit down in there, I need both of you in the interrogation room." M handed a small stack of manila folders to James and walked ahead of them without another word. Her stride was small but efficient; it was the walk of a woman on a mission.

Belle looked at Bond and he shrugged. Interrogation room? Apparently neither of them knew what was going on and Belle's excitement grew. They both fell into place behind M and walked down the corridor.

"Good morning," Bond paused and smirked. "009…" Apparently the old woman had told him about Belle's recent promotion. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his light grey trousers and walked beside her in a relaxed manner. Belle looked to him and smiled a good morning in response as he held a door open for her and they continued down a flight of stairs. He wore a plain black t-shirt that was tucked into what she could only assume was a real leather belt. Even the shirt looked like it had been tailored to hug his chest in all the right ways. But then you couldn't expect anything but the best from Bond. M was well ahead of them but they could still hear the click of her heels and they both sped up to try and close the gap.

Belle's tennis shoes squeaked once on the recently waxed floor as they rounded a corner and continued down another flight of steps, deeper into the tunnels of MI6. She was glad she had chosen the casual route today. They stopped in a hallway as M unlocked a door for the three of them with a swipe of her access card.

The room was small and dark and on the far wall there was a large clear two way mirror pane. A small door to the right of the mirror pane led to the actual interrogation room but it was closed and from the looks of it, locked. M stood in front of the mirror and faced her two agents. Belle had the odd suspicion that she stood where she did on purpose, doing all that she could to block the person inside from their view. She did a pretty good job, considering how very small she was, and all that Belle could tell was that the person seated inside was a woman.

She only had eyes for Bond as she said gently, "We have Elektra King."

Bond did his best not to react but Belle saw the tightening of his shoulders and jaw; to anyone that wasn't trained in looking for such things, it would have been invisible. She had read the file and knew the name. Elektra King, born 1971, was the wealthy heiress of the oil company owned by her father Sir Robert. At a young age she had been kidnapped by a Russian assassin and her family had refused to pay the ransom. Belle knew the facts, her story was tragic in its own way, but it was also over. According to the folder, Elektra King was dead. Bond had killed her back in '99 after she joined forces with her kidnapper to extort her own company while trying to destroy the British secret service.

"That's not possible." Bond said flatly as M paused before moving out of the way.

Both agents looked into the room. A thin woman sat in straight backed metal chair in front of a sturdy looking metal table. One wrist was cuffed to the arm rest while the other was loose and resting on the table's surface. Her hair was frizzed and looked like it needed a good brushing. She leaned up and Belle got a good look at her face, hazel eyes where now sunk in and shifted from one side of the room to the other. Her hand convulsed on the table and she leaned forward putting her face into her palm as if to stop the twitching. Her shoulders shook and for a moment Belle though the woman was crying but she slammed her fist on the table and looked at the mirror as if she could see the three of them and Belle saw…she was laughing.

"We captured her outside of Istanbul." M crossed her arms and looked into the room. "After her crew and Renard were killed, we thought she was dead as well, but apparently she fled the country. No fortune, no contacts…we found her on the streets after she tried hacking the computers at a security industry and killed a guard."

Belle walked closer to the glass and looked at the woman. This woman may have been Elektra King but she was not the Elektra King from the file. That woman was long gone.

"Bond if you can't do this I need to know now." M said firmly while looking at her star pupil.

"I'll be fine." Bond snapped. He bit his lip and said again in a different tone. "I'll be fine mum."

The older woman nodded and took out her access card and swiped it again for the door in front of them. All three walked into the very monochromatic room and M took the seat across from Elektra while Belle and James stood in the back against the wall.

"Ms. King," M folded her hands in front of her and addressed the younger woman.

Elektra looked up at her name and removed the hand from her face. Her wide eyes lit up and she whispered, "You." In an instant her eyes narrowed and she pulled against the cuff, moving the chair with a screech, "You!"

Something that the file didn't tell was that M was the reason Elektra's family never paid the ransom. At the time she thought it was the right choice, the best interest for the family. She was later proved very wrong and Elektra never forgave her. Belle knew that Elektra's lust for vengeance against M had been her downfall the first time; she cared more about making the old woman pay for her sins rather than carrying out her plan with her estranged lover/kidnapper, Renard. Belle watched as the woman settled back down and tucked her hair back, trying to muster her dignity. However, there was nothing left to muster and Belle felt sorry for her.

"You're in a lot of trouble Ms. King. I-…"

"Oh but that's where you're wrong old woman!" Elektra laughed as she interrupted M. "I'm not in any trouble," she leaned over the table and whispered getting in the older woman's face, "I'm already dead."

"Sit down Elektra." Bond said firmly as he stepped away from the wall, ready to protect M if the deranged girl took it any further.

Elektra's head rose and her eyes became wide as if she had just realized he was in the room. Her lips curled up in a wistful smile; her face taking on the look of joy and if Belle was correct, there was a hint of love.

"James," she whispered. "Oh James."

Bond's expression didn't waiver as he looked at her. He folded his arms over his chest and went back to stand by Belle against the far wall. He had shut down; put on his blank face that made him a good spy, every agent had their own version of that face.

"You're new…" Elektra looked at Belle and sized her up carefully.

Belle ignored the sentiment and instead stepped forward. "What happened to you?" She couldn't help herself; she had always been curious and her inquisitive mind had to know how a beautiful heiress became a crazed street urchin.

Elektra let out another laugh, "So young. So beautiful." She looked to James even though her words were for Belle. "They did this to me sweetheart, your precious agency."

"Don't kid yourself Elektra. Renard did this to you; he kidnapped you and destroyed you-…"

"HE FREED ME!" Elektra yelled as she stood up quickly enough to knock over the chair; it hung awkwardly against the floor and in the air as her right wrist was still cuffed to it. Bond crossed in front of Belle and walked out the door, he had had enough. Belle had read the file, she knew the story. Elektra had used Bond to trick MI6 into thinking she was the victim, that she needed their help and in the end Bond had put a bullet in her for her treachery. M got up and followed him and the door issued a quiet hush sound as it closed behind them, leaving Belle and Elektra alone.

"By Renard I assume you mean Victor Zokas, the Russian assassin?" Belle began, staying by the wall and crossing her arms under her breasts.

"You know your stuff." The other woman sat back down and crossed her legs, looking at Belle. "Not many know his real name." She smiled in remembrance of good memories that were long gone, "I always told him I liked 'Victor' better."

"You loved him?" Belle raised an eyebrow.

"Still do." Belle thought it was an odd way to phrase that, the man had been dead for over a decade but the look on Elektra's face suggested that the love was brand new. She looked to Belle and a hint of sanity flickered in her dark eyes as she said softly, "This is what men do; they take…until there is nothing left." She whispered the last part before laying her head on the table.

Belle opened her mouth to respond but jumped as the siren in the corner of the room started blinking, filling the room with a flashing red light. She looked back at Elektra as the alarms went off throughout MI6; they bellowed a deep toned honk about every two seconds as the intercom issued there had been a breach.

Bond and M walked back into the room. "Mum, what is it?" Belle asked.

Both James and the smaller lady looked to Elektra and the expressions on their face where something that Belle could not decipher. Something was happening.

With her cheek still pressed to the metal table, Elektra began to laugh, softly at first then filling the room as she raised her head slowly to look at the agents.

"H-he found me…" She stopped laughing long enough to whisper. It raised the hairs on the back of Belle's neck as she began laughing once more. "He found me."


	3. The Wrong Q

Chapter 3: M pressed a button on the intercom system outside the holding room of Elektra King. She called down a free agent to stay and make sure their suspect didn't go anywhere. Looking to Belle and James she nodded for them to come with her and the three of them walked back up the twisting stairs of MI6.

Another loud boom shook the walls and rattled the light fixtures and Bond put his hand on M's arm to steady her.

"Mum, you should go back down-…" Bond started.

"The hell I will 007. This is my agency." She said with a crisp tone as she hurried back down the carpeted hallway.

Bond gave up and pulled a small handgun from the middle of his back before following his boss. Belle took Bond's lead and pulled her own 9mm, clicking off the safety and transferring it to her right hand. She neither knew what was happening or how it had happened but MI6 had been breached. This kind of thing did not happen. They were entrusted with Britain's most guarded secrets, kept the country safe and did it all in shadow with the best men and women in the business.

Belle remembered after an electrical fire a large part of their building was under construction these past few weeks, the alarms going off could be related; if that was the case then there was nothing to worry about. If not, well then they were in trouble.

The first round of semi-automatic shots echoed through the hall way and Belle knew that what was happening was not a simple construction mishap. She followed the sound of the shots and came to a hallway that was already caved in from the first round of explosions. Cursing softly under her breath she ran alongside James down a different path and they both came to a stop with the beep of their watches.

"Bond…" Belle said quietly as she read the flashing codes on the screen at her wrist. "The tech room is under attack."

M came up, slightly out of breath and looked at Belle in disbelief, "Tech? Weapons maybe; but Tech? What the bloody hell are they after?"

As the new information sank in, Belle felt her stomach drop to her feet with a new realization. She whispered, "Q…"

Bond heard her and looked up as she sprinted down the hallway. "Belle!"

But he was too late. "Protect M!" Belle yelled as she put her gun in the edge of her jeans at the small of her back and ran. She ran hard and as fast as she could down the corridor as the building gave another, smaller shake. The building was beginning to shut down. Doors were locking and the elevators were frozen as she bypassed them and went straight for the stairs. Breathing harder as she took them two at a time, she rounded the corner. The doors on either side of her were locking permanently with solid clunks; she wasn't going to make it. The glass doors of the tech room came into view and she pulled her gun and fired mid-stride, shattering the glass before the security system could keep her away from her goal. She ran through the metal door frame as the glass twinkled to the ground around her and she ducked, rolling across the floor and coming up on one knee, arms poised with her gun raised.

"Belle!"

She turned to the right at the sound of her name and froze. Q was on his knees in a pile of ash and rubble. His hands hung at his sides as he looked at her from across the room. The man at his back had him by collar and tightened his grip, shoving the barrel of a gun into the young man's messy hair.

"Drop it." The gunman said simply, his Russian accent slipping as his upper lip curled in a snarl.

Belle looked around the room. It was destroyed. Screens were shattered, exposed wires hung from various monitors and parts of the ceiling and the once spotless, white tiled floor was covered in a thin layer of dark, gritty soot. Men and women lay face down in various parts of the room, some not moving and some cowering in fear; they were temps, the brains of MI6 and this was not in their job description.

She was surrounded by men that were not on her side and the 9mm in her hand was not going to take them all down. The man who held Q dug the barrel a little deeper against his skull and as her friend winced, she realized she was out of options.

Standing slowly, she clicked the release on the side and let the clip fall to the floor before relaxing her hand and letting the body of the gun follow.

"Hands on your head." He said as he nodded his approval of her being disarmed.

This man was obviously the one in charge and as Belle raised her hands to her head slowly, she looked him over. Although she had never laid eyes on him in real life, she had seen that face a hundred times over the few days it had taken her to sift through Elektra King's file; Victor Zokas, otherwise known as Renard.

He looked the same as he had almost a decade ago; hair buzzed against his head, light scar down the left side of his face. She tried not to stare but couldn't help it as her gaze slid over his right eye, which drooped ever so slightly as a direct result of a gunshot to the head. As she looked him up and down, he addressed the rest of the room.

"Which one of you is the Quartermaster?"

No one said anything as he scanned the room again. A young woman off to the side whimpered as she hugged the edge of an overturned desk and he asked again. The identity of the MI6 Quartermaster was as important as the identity of their agents and the information was apparently so well guarded that Renard had no idea he was holding the person he wanted by the collar.

Belle bit her lip as she locked eyes with Q. She needed to do something to get him away from Renard and she needed to do it fast. Whatever they wanted with Q couldn't be good and if they got their hands on him and all his knowledge, it could spell disaster for the whole agency. Her friend's eyes widened and he shook his head slowly, not daring to move much more with a gun still pressed to his cranium.

"I am." Belle said firmly as she repositioned her hands on her head. They were beginning to tingle as the blood flowed down to her shoulders.

Renard's head snapped back to Belle and he chuckled, "You?" He sized her up and his face shut down, not giving away any of his thoughts as they stared at one another. After a moment he nodded to one of his men and then addressed Belle once more. "You're coming with me."

Q had had enough. He couldn't sit idly by and let her do this, these men wanted him and she was being brave and taking the fall. Pulling against Renard, he gritted his teeth and shook his head, "She's lying, I-…"

Belle winced as Renard pistol whipped the younger man and he fell to the ground. She kept her voice firm as she stepped forward. "Leave him alone, he's just a temp."

Another man came up and whispered in Renard's ear and Belle took that as her chance, she ran to Q and kneeled in front of him. Putting a hand on his shoulder she whispered, "Please, stay down." There was a small amount of blood seeping through his dress shirt and she avoided touching it. It didn't look fatal and he had no doubt gained it trying to protect one of the other people in the room. Q May have been all brains but there was a hell of a heart in there as well and some of his skills were those that normally belonged to someone in the field.

Renard pocketed his gun and walked over towards Belle and she hurried to finish what she had to say to Q. Brushing the tangled mop of brunette hair from his eyes she said even quieter, "You saved me," she paused. "Now let me save you."

Q looked at her with miserable eyes and muffled his noise of protest as Renard jerked Belle to her feet and pulled her hands behind her back, binding them tightly with a zip tie. "Thank you for making this easy." He growled in her ear as he pulled her across the room and towards the back exit. She struggled to keep her footing and looked around the room for anything that could help her. Q stayed where he was, honoring her request for his silence as he watched helplessly. Belle was known at the agency for being brave, it was part of the reason her promotion came so quickly, but never had he wished so hard that she was still a desk worker. She was going with the wolves, not just to save him but everyone in this room and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Renard!"

The man came up short, putting Belle in front of him as a shield as he turned at the sound of Bond's voice. 007 stood in the doorway, now more of a hole in the wall than anything else, and gripped Elektra King by the arm. Belle stayed still as the two men mirrored each other and Renard placed his arm on her shoulder for balance as he raised his gun and aimed it at Bond. M was nowhere in sight and she gave a silent sigh of relief, knowing she was safe within the tunnels of MI6.

Elektra struggled against Bond and her wild eyes began to water as she looked at her long lost lover. Her chest heaved and Belle thought either Bond had hurt her or the woman was a brilliant actress. She was willing to bet on the latter.

"V-Victor…" Elektra sobbed as she held her arm out to him. Even though Belle knew she was looking at two deranged killers, it was heart wrenching.

For a long time Renard didn't say a single word, silence filled the room as the unspoken deal between the two men was made clear. Bond was offering a trade. Elektra for Belle; and he was relying on Renard's past feelings in order to gain what he wanted. Belle felt the man at her back tense and his grip on her tightened. She could almost hear the dilemma going on inside his head as no one in the room dared to move and the only noise was the distant honk of the alarms within the building.

"Boss?" said one of the lackeys in the corner of the room, keeping his sight on Bond while he asked with one word what they were supposed to do next.

Renard exhaled slowly before saying deeply. "Leave her," locking eyes with Bond he continued. "If anyone follows me…she dies." He backed away with Belle still pressed against him and kicked the door open with his foot before disappearing from Bond's sight. His crew followed suit as Elektra pulled against Bond and began to shriek.

"VICTOR! D-don't leave me!" She was hysterical as Bond gripped her tightly, trying to control her while more agents flooded the room and opened fire on Renard's dissipating men. Renard marched Belle quickly up a rickety set of stairs imbedded in the wall of the tech room. They wound straight up and were only wide enough for a single file line of people as she struggled to keep her balance with her hands tied behind her back. Higher and higher they climbed as the noise below them grew distant.

"Hold your fire!" Bond yelled over the chaos as he passed Elektra off to another man and hurried across the room, speaking into his watch. "Code 13. I repeat, code 13. Agent has been taken hostage. In Pursuit."

They reached the top and Renard reached past Belle to throw open the hatch that lead to the roof and he climbed out ahead of her. Reaching back down her grabbed her by the arm and hoisted her through the square hole and out into the blinding sunlight. She turned her head as the wind from the helicopter blades tossed her curls and she allowed him to drag her to the aircraft.

"Bond! Abandon pursuit! You'll get one of you killed!" M yelled over the radio at his wrist.

"I can get her!" He climbed higher and gritted his teeth as he pushed himself to go harder, to go faster. He couldn't let them get away.

Belle fell on her side into the floorboard of the helicopter as her captor pushed her in and she lost her balance. He put his gun in the waist band of his jeans and hopped inside as well, hitting his palm against the side of the door to signal the pilot that he was ready. Belle looked out from her spot on the floor as Bond shot out onto the rooftop and Renard's men opened fire on him. "JAMES!" she yelled as the door slid into place and closed off her view of him.

Bond hit the concrete of the roof to avoid the spray of bullets as the helicopter took off. The fire ceased as it was high enough into the air for both sides to know who the victor was. Bond scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the roof as he watched the black metal mass disappear with his agent.

"BELLE!" he yelled uttering a string of curses as more agents came onto the roof and M shouted at him to respond over the radio system. The busy streets of London were filled with the noise of an average day and citizens ignorant to the chaos happening above them. His back up declared the rooftop clear but that was just stating the obvious because they were all too late.

"I'll find you." James vowed quietly as the noise died down around them and his promise fell on deaf ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright here we go. Chapter 3. There is not much of this verse out there but I am glad you guys seem to be liking it! Reviews are appreciated! Also, I still do not own anything related to Once Upon a Time or James Bond.


	4. Welcome to Russia

Chapter 4:

With a groan, Q turned his main desk right side up and set the very expensive and now very broken computer monitor upright as well. He ran his hand along the cracked screen like it was a fallen comrade and sighed heavily. Everyone in the room turned collectively as M entered the ground zero that was the tech room. Bond held out his hand to help her step through the door frame and over the piles of broken glass that littered the tile. Everyone had gone about their duties, taping off dangerous passageways, calling the cleanup crews and helping those injured find medical attention.

"How the hell did this happen?" she addressed the room and held her hands up in question.

Q leaned his hands on the desk and spoke to the table top, not caring as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. "The bloody construction. Did everyone not see what they were wearing?"

"They've been here for weeks repairing the fire damage to the south end. While working, they scoped out MI6, watched us use the right doors and in the end they walked right in the damn door without a hitch." Bond crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as he explained what he had gathered in his moments of silence.

"Why did they take agent French?" M shoved a few pieces of glass away with her lavender colored pump so she could stand on solid ground and look at the two men.

"They wanted me." Q said quietly, still looking down. "A-agent French told them she was the quartermaster. She lied. Lied to save me." He gritted his teeth and shoved the broken computer onto the floor with a crash and stood up straight, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Everyone in the room jumped except for Bond and M at Q's sudden outburst. He felt like he had let her down, like it was his fault and at the moment there was nothing he could do to remedy it.

After a moment of silence Bond pushed away from the wall and stood beside Q. "Now the question is, what did they want with you? And how do we stop them?"

Q nodded and bit his lip, looking around the room and glaring at the other temps until they either filed out or resumed tedious work. With a sigh, he turned back to Bond.

"Time to save the world again 007?" Q said after a pause and slid his glasses back onto his face; both men regaining their steely expressions as they looked at one another. Whatever they felt for Agent 009 had to remain locked down, and they both knew it. To do anything else would be to write a death note for the three of them and spell failure for the operation.

"Indeed," M said as she put her hands in the pockets of her suit jacket and nodded approvingly. "Get to work. Both of you."

 

* * *

 

Darkness. That is all the Belle saw as she adjusted her wrists against the unforgiving plastic of the zip tie. As soon as the helicopter had left London, Renard had blindfolded her. She bit her lip as she tried to keep her breathing even. Belle was not afraid of much but tight places rattled her more than she cared to admit; the cramped compartment of the helicopter now paired with the darkness of the blindfold was not helping her phobia.

It seemed they had traveled for hours and she shifted in her seat as she felt someone's presence in her personal space. Renard took her chin in his hand and turned her toward him as he spoke, "What's your name?"

At this point, Belle would have liked nothing more than to spit in his face, but now was not the time for such a thing. She was trapped at the moment with no means of escape and it was probably best not to do anything rash.

"French. Belle French." She said quietly and turned her head back down as he let go of her face.

"Belle French, the quartermaster of MI6. Prettier than I thought you'd be." He sat back in his seat and took off his glove, pulling a small metallic wand out of his pocket.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she sneered. He moved closer and unbuttoned her coat, reaching inside. Belle had had enough, her patience only went so far; she was nervous, trapped and couldn't see what he was doing. She kicked her leg out, hitting nothing but the air in the compartment as he easily dodged her and grabbed her by the throat with the hand that was still gloved.

He gripped her tight enough to get her attention and snarled close to her face. "Hold still. I will knock you unconscious and I cannot promise my men are quite the gentlemen that I am."

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she listened to his words and bit her lip. Gentleman her arse. But she stayed silent and nodded as much as his grip on her throat would allow. He slowly released her and moved her coat to the side, waving the bar of the wand along her torso and down her legs slowly. It issued a small beep at her belt but stopped and Belle knew what he was doing, he was checking her for bugs that could still be in place from MI6. The file said that Renard was a borderline genius, so she shouldn't have been surprised that he would think of something so basic as a tracker.

Her whole body tensed as he turned her around and the device in his hand went crazy as it passed over her bound hands. She tightened her grip on her mother's ring and willed the damn thing to stop beeping.

"What do we have here?" He said as he set down the device and made her unclench her fists. She whimpered as he slid the band off of her finger and she hated herself for allowing him to hear such a noise. She couldn't see what he did with it; she only knew that it was gone. The last thing she had of her mother, as well as her last hope, vanished in an instant.

He dropped the ring into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, checked to make sure Belle's seatbelt was secured as he stood and grabbed the handle attached to the ceiling, "We're landing."

The helicopter landed with a soft jolt a short time later and Belle scrunched up her face as Renard slid the door open and a wind colder than any she had ever known in London blew through the cockpit. He leaned over and slid the blindfold off of her eyes and tossed it aside as he jumped down into the snow drift. The light reflected off of the frozen mountains was blinding and she winced as her eyes adjusted to the blindfold being gone.

He reached up and lifted her out of the helicopter and she sank lightly into the snow. He leaned in and whispered against her hair as she took in the scenery and the blades of the aircraft slowed with a deep whomp, whomp sound that echoed over the vast mountains. "Welcome to Russia, madame."

They walked up the small hillside. Renard's hand firmly grasping Belle's upper arm half dragging, half assisting her through the ridiculous amount of snow. His crew filtered off around him until only three remained in place, poised at his back, each holding an automatic Uzi to their chest. Mountains, mountains as far as the eye could see, covered in snow with bits of jagged rock spaced throughout. It was gorgeous but Belle's heart sank as she realized there was no sign of civilization anywhere. As far as a means of escape went, her odds were slowly declining.

As they topped the hill she let out a small gasp at the sheer size of the mansion secluded in the drifts of ice and rock. Once closer, Belle concluded that 'mansion' was not the right word for Renard's hideout. Castle, yes 'castle' was more proper when describing the ornate structure of stone and glass that towered above them, strong yet still forgotten by time alone in the extensive wilderness.

Renard opened the giant wooden doors and immediately started barking orders to the few men that were lounged in front of the fireplace to their right. He pulled Belle to a stop and passed her off to a taller man with shaggy black hair and eyes so green Belle had a moment to wonder if his mother had been a lynx.

"Take her upstairs."

"Wait." Belle said as the larger man started guiding her towards the double staircase in the center of the grand hall. But no one was listening, Renard had turned his back and the rest of the men in the room knew where their orders came from and it was not her.

"OUT." Renard yelled as he walked into the library and the one man who was in there scrambled to obey, shutting the door firmly behind him. After the nameless lackey had vanished, Renard walked to the window and threw open the glass frames, letting the cold air blow into the room as he inhaled deeply.

However frigid the air might have been, he couldn't feel it. Neither cold nor hot penetrated his flesh and his body remained at a constant state of normalcy. Balling his hands into fists, he squeezed until his fingernails cut the top layer of skin on his palm, but he didn't feel that either. All he wanted was a release and the bullet in his skull was the barrier. Striding to the shelf he threw the first glass object he saw and shattered it against the stone wall, he flung a book into the porcelain case in the corner and stood in the room breathing heavy and looking at his destruction. The plan of taking MI6 had gone swimmingly, he had his quartermaster, he was winning. So why did he feel like this?

Elektra.

She was there. They had her. Nearly ten years ago his entire plan had gone under once he found out Bond had put a bullet in the breast of his beloved Elektra King. And now she was back, alive; judging by the look in her eyes, perhaps not entirely sane but alive nonetheless. He couldn't feel anything for anyone but when it came to her he tried, God in Heaven did he try for her, and she shunned him. Used him up, then shut him out. After he crawled out from what was supposed to be his watery grave, he spent these many years rebuilding his plan, recruiting for his cause and coming to terms with his hate for the person he had come closest to loving.

Seeing her however, had almost undone all those years of hard work. The way she looked at him in desperation to rescue her from the people who had taken their lives had pulled at his cold heart for a split second before the beautiful karma of her situation had made it all too easy to leave her behind.

Then there was Bond. He had stood in the way far too many times and his only redeeming quality was that he had put an end to Elektra, and now he didn't even have that. Britain's secret service now knew too much, they knew he was alive and well, but he had traded that knowledge for their quartermaster. The next phase of his plan was secured upstairs in a dainty package topped with burnt sienna curls and as he gained his composure once more, Renard had faith that this time would be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright guys. Let me start by saying I am sorry. I am buried up to my ears in college crap and urgh...I wanted to update these faster. Mountaintops was updated first because the next part of Stand and Deliver still needs a lot of work for those of you who read both. Thanks for the support. Not gonna lie, this chapter is kinda filler but they make for good build up! Review if you wish! (I do not own OUAT or James Bond)


	5. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shout out to Somethingstately on Tumblr who helped me with Logarithmic Functions otherwise you would not have gotten this chapter tonight. I do not own OUAT or James Bond. Enjoy guys and review if you wish.

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* * *

Chapter 5:

It was cold. Belle shivered as she pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her forehead in the line of her thighs. The wind howled outside the concrete walls of her cell and she let out a soft, short whimper. Never in her life had she felt this cold, this frozen with no means of escaping it. For two days she had sat against the stone and waited. Waited for something, anything that would allow her to leave. Someone brought her food regularly and she slept when she was either so exhausted or bored that she couldn't stand it anymore.

She bit her lip so hard as her teeth chattered that she bit through the skin. She was better than this, she was a double-oh agent. But she had exhausted all of her possibilities. When they locked her up they had taken her belt, her hair pins and basically anything on her person that could be used as an escape. She was well and truly trapped and as the hours ticked by it was beginning to sink in.

The door creaked open and bounced against the wall with a heavy thunk. Belle squinted as light flooded her small room and she stared up at one of Ranard's henchmen that she had seen only once before. He nodded for her to follow him and she stood slowly, stiff from the lack of movement, and walked out of the room and into the corridor. The castle was cold, the kind of cold that went straight to your core and latched on like it was never going to go away. The kind of cold that made you ache and Belle had no way of shielding herself from it. Renard's lackey shoved her through a door way and slammed it behind her, locking it.

She now stood in a large, make that very large, bedroom, decorated in blues and rich purples that screamed luxury even in the dim lighting of the room. The snow was coming down full force on the balcony at the far end of the room and she hugged her arms around her chest and shivered. There was a stack of warmer clothes at the foot of the bed and she ran her fingers over the dark green sweater and wondered what to do.

Behind her the light was on in the bathroom and she scooped up the clothes and walked in, shutting the door quietly behind her. It was a complete bath, with a sink, rich black tiled floor and a large glass shower. She locked the door and decided that if she was being forced to stay in this room she would indulge in being clean. Stripping and jumping into the water as quickly as possible she felt every muscle in her body give a sigh of relief as the water cascaded down her skin and she turned the dial till it was as hot as she could stand. After a good ten minutes, she forced herself to turn it off and she stepped out, drying quickly, pulling on jeans, snapping her bra and dragging the sweater over her head. Everything fit perfectly to her great surprise, and it was much warmer than her casual wear that was now piled carelessly on the floor.

She walked out of the steamy room, braiding her damp hair intently enough that she didn't realize Renard leaning against the foot of the bed; she gave a small yelp as he addressed her and whipped around.

"Good morning Madame." He stood and she nodded in response not saying anything. "I was assured that you would be taken care of while I was away on business, it seems my intent was misunderstood."

He walked out of the room without another word and without waiting for her response. She had no choice but to follow as she slipped on her shoes and hurried to catch up with him. They walked up the stairs and across the upper balcony that overlooked the ballroom and entrance to the castle that she had seen the other day. Once they crossed the east corridor they entered a small study and he held the door open for her and nodded as she walked in without having to be forced.

"I'm -…" he started.

"Renard," She turned to him and crossed her arms under her breasts and continued. "Ex-Russian military, graduated with honors, dishonorable discharge and eventual government anarchist. And now capable of resurrection?"

He smirked and nodded, the girl had done her homework and he couldn't help but be impressed. "Well what can I say? Bond should really check that his target doesn't have a pulse before he reports back to MI6 and gives them a false report."

Walking towards her, he clasped his hands behind his back and circled her slowly, lowering his voice as his eyes looked her up and down. "So you're the quartermaster? Young; late 20's I'm guessing."

"A lady never reveals her age." Belle said simply as she stayed still and focused on a spot on the wall, let him look, she didn't care.

"Ah," he chuckled. "Right you are." He looked up as a few of his men entered the room and took their places on either side of the door way. Renard's expression grew cold and his voice was sharp as he looked to the larger man on the right. "Stevens, what were my exact orders when I left two days ago?"

Belle watched as the man gripped his gun and a sweat broke out on his brow as he thought of the correct answer to give his boss, "Take care of the girl."

"No, no, I believe I was more specific." He pulled his gun from the small of his back and pointed it at the man. "I left you in charge, what were the orders I gave you?"

Stevens gripped his gun even more tightly and looked to Belle before back to Renard. However, Stevens did not speak and the smaller man at his side found his voice and addressed the rest of them. "You said to give her the east suite, the blue room. And that she was to be in perfect condition by the time you returned…sir."

Renard smiled and it was not a good smile, Belle shivered as she watched that angry movement of lips spread across Renard's face and she suddenly felt very worried for Stevens.

"Well, I'm glad someone has been listening." He nodded to the smaller man before turning and firing two shots into the middle of Stevens' chest and sending him to the ground with a solid  _thunk._  Belle jumped and her eyes grew wide as she watched the man's now dead figure twitch before going completely still. She tried to control her breathing as she looked between the two men now standing. Renard clicked the safety back on his gun and placed it back in the small of his back.

"Private congratulations, you've been promoted." He pointed to the dead form on the ground. "Clean this up and report to Felix downstairs, and don't make me regret keeping you alive."

The smaller man nodded quickly and dragged Stevens from the study before shutting the door and leaving Belle alone with Renard.

"Are you insane?" she asked breathlessly, her hands slightly shaking as she looked at him in horror.

"I don't tolerate insolence Ms. French. I need you to know that. Stevens disobeyed a simple order; surely you don't mourn his loss?" He raised an eyebrow.

Belle shook her head. The death of Stevens meant one less lackey she had to deal with and it was better him than her. Stevens had chosen the wrong side and she felt no remorse for him and instead just used the situation to judge the character of her captor.

"Good. Now let's get down to business. I'm sure you want to know what I brought you here for." He pulled out the leather desk chair in front of the computer for her and motioned to it. "Sit, please."

Belle walked across the room and did as he asked. She was about to find out why he had wanted Q so badly and if she could do what he asked well enough to keep up her game of playing the agency's quartermaster. Staring at the laptop in front of her, she didn't touch it unless he instructed her. Placing her hands in her lap, she watched as he slipped off his leather jacket and threw it on the nearby sofa before crossing the room over to her. Belle noticed for the first time the broadness of his shoulders and marveled at the fact that he seemed perfectly at ease in a simple black t-shirt while she froze in her layers and heavy sweater. The file said Renard couldn't feel anything with his nervous system, but surely that was an exaggeration. Surely he felt  _something_ right? She looked away quickly as he caught her staring.

"Ms. French..." he leaned against the dark oak wood desk and looked down at her. "Do you see this?" He held up a rather small disk in a clear plastic case for her to look at and she nodded. "I need you to decrypt it."

"What is it?" she couldn't help herself as her curious mind blurted out the first thing she wanted to know.

"That is irrelevant." He snapped quickly and set the disk on the surface in front of her. "You will do this. And you will do it quickly."

"How do I know that you won't kill me once it is done?" She glared up at him.

He laughed softly and shook his head. "Oh Ms. French, do you think I am as cliché as all that? It is the new era love, do this for me and I promise you can return to your precious England. Now if you refuse…well," he pulled a small 9mm hand gun from his waist and held it casually to her temple with a small smile. "Then we will have a problem."

Belle bit her lip and tried to control her breathing. He hadn't clicked the safety off so she knew she was in no immediate danger. But it is funny how one's pulse tends to speed up when a weapon is being held to your skull. She weighed her options. She could try and decipher the disk, succeed and give this mad man what he wanted. She could refuse and die quickly and MI6 would be none the wiser to him or his plans. If she failed to crack the code on the disk, she faced another problem entirely; the gig would be up and Renard would know she was not the quartermaster of MI6. Would he kill her then for lying? There was only one way to find out.

With shaky hands, she picked up the disk and opened its clear plastic case, removing it and slipping it into the drive of the computer. The computer was top of the line, obviously only used by Renard himself, so when it came to the decoding of the disk it wasn't going to be the technology that was the problem. Renard moved the gun from her head and placed it on the end table next to the couch .

"Excellent choice Ms. French. It would be a shame to waste such talent…" he paused and turned back to her, stroking his chin. "And beauty."

Belle felt his gaze but continued to focus on the screen in front of her. The tower next to the monitor issued a small  _whirr-ing_  noise as the disk began to spin and a black screen flashed, scrolling thousands of lines in white code. Belle felt her heart sink. She felt sick. This was not her area of expertise. She was apt at books, fluent in research and multiple languages and now none of that was going to be of any use to her. Q could have broken it in 30 seconds flat, but that did not help her now. She rubbed her eyes and poised her hands at the keyboard and began clacking away. She sent a prayer upwards to any being that would listen that every tiny scrap of skill with a computer Q had ever taught her would help her now.

Thousands of lines of numbers and code that didn't make any sense flew past her eyes and Belle started typing in keyboard commands to make them slow down. So far they didn't mean anything; they were just numbers, worthless strands of binary code meant to distract the untrained eye into thinking something was there. Renard hovered over shoulder and his eyes darted, trying to keep up as she typed.

"What are you doing? What is that?"

Belle continued to type and shook her head. "It's nothing. Absolutely nothing. This code was placed here as a decoy, meaning there is either nothing on this disk or the information is buried under all of this junk."

Renard felt his fists clench and he snarled, "That's not possible."

"Why would I lie?" Belle looked at him as the computer continued to scroll.

Renard glared at her, then back to the computer and repeated the question over in his mind. Why would Belle lie? She had no reason too, the consequences were clear if she was unable to decode the program. But the rationality of the thought did nothing to quench his anger. Reaching up, he grabbed her by the braid and slid his fingers between the loosest strands and gripped hard. He yanked back enough to stretch her neck tight and force her to look up at him.

Belle was shocked but pleased that she didn't issue a noise, not wanting to give him that pleasure. She swallowed hard as he shoved the barrel of the 9mm into the fleshy part under her now exposed chin.

"You think this is a game? You  _will_  keep trying and you  _will_  figure it out." He growled and pressed the metal more firmly into her skin.

Belle looked at him and was silent for a moment as she organized her thoughts. "I can keep trying. But whatever this is, it's highly protected. I'm shooting in the dark and if I miss, the whole program will shut down, erase itself and then you will have nothing." Her words were strangled but only because she was being forced to speak under the pressure of her windpipe being crushed against her own throat.

He grit his teeth, looked at the computer and then back to Belle and released her quickly enough that she fell forward and caught herself on the desk. The gun was removed from her throat slowly as Renard crossed his arms over his broad chest and thought.

"You're saying you need another code?" he walked away and looked out the window.

"No, I'm saying I need a password. Something I can type in that will keep the code from self destructing; something only the owner of whatever this is would have." Belle kept her voice even and fought the urge to rub her neck, relaxing a tad now that he no longer had a hold on her. He was silent and it was unnerving. She averted her eyes away from his back and to the computer once again, the code had started to slow but it was still just gibberish.

Renard placed the gun on the windowsill and walked back to the desk, looking down at Belle and continuing his extended silence. Her soft blue eyes looked back at him with intelligence and apprehension. She was dutifully waiting for his next move and then she would make hers. She was not rash.

"If I had this password, you could decode it?" He raised the eyebrow over his good eye.

Belle nodded. "Yes. If you had the password, a dog could decode it." She hoped her quip played off as confidence, confidence in the fact that she could decode anything he gave her, confidence that the  _real_  quartermaster would have.

"Good." He whipped the chair around and grabbed her arm, hoisting her to her feet.

"Wait. Wait, where are you taking me?" She hurried to match his stride, her lack of height making it increasingly hard to do.

"Your room," he said shortly and continued to guide her. They walked across the castle, across the walkway that overlooked the grand hall and around the corridor. The both of them finally came to a stop outside the room from which she occupied this morning. He opened the door and it slowly slid inward with a soft creek.

She paused and looked at him as he released her arm. "So I've be upgraded? No more dungeon?"

Renard ignored the bitterness behind her words and nodded. "You're going to be here awhile. I'm trying to be civil."

Belle moved to the middle of the doorway and folded her arms and let out a harsh laugh that was more of a short bark than anything. She shook her head and said flatly, "Civil. That's rich."

Renard growled and continued, "I'm having dinner in the grand hall and you're welcome to join me. It must be better than the scraps Felix has been bringing you."

"Actually, you know…" she held up a finger, acting like she thought about his offer then nodded in decision. "I would rather starve." She slammed the door in his face and he jerked backwards so it wouldn't hit him in the nose. Anger boiled in his veins as he snarled and dug a large brass set of keys out of his pocket. He flipped through them and stuck the right one in the brass key hole.

"Luckily for you Madame," he called through the door as he turned the key and the door locked with a firm click from the outside. "That can be arranged."

With a small smirk, he pocketed the keys and nodded even though she couldn't see. If that is what she wanted, that is exactly what he would give her. Elektra had been difficult at first as well, so this challenge wasn't about to dissuade him from his goal. He turned on his heel and walked back down the dark corridor without another word.

Belle heard his words and her head snapped back towards the door and she ran back across the room, pulling on the handle. The door held fast and wouldn't budge. His words sank straight to the pit of her stomach and she slapped the oak with an open palm. She tried again before looking around the room. The sun was long gone and the light in the room was fading. The ceruleans of the walls were becoming black and Belle leaned against the door and took a shaky breath. The blue sanctuary with its large bed and full bath that she was so thankful for this morning had now become her prison.


	6. Shoot to Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not knowing if Renard will ever unlock her door again, Belle decides its time to leave.

Belle sat on the bed in silence as the sun rose. Golden light poured in from the large French windows and onto the wooden part of the floor that stood in front of the reading area cut out of the wall. The colors playing against the light oak gave off a false sense of warmth and if you curled in the rays it would have been just as cold there as it was in the rest of the large room. It would have been a good place to read, provided you had a large amount of quilts, but the room was empty of literature and Belle would have given anything for a better look inside Renard’s library from the day before.

  
She huddled in her green sweater and pulled the edge of the sleeve over her fingertips to wipe at her face furiously; getting rid of the sleep and the grogginess in her eyes after a night spent wide awake and fighting back tears. She got up from the bed and pulled on her thick boots that Renard had provided earlier.  
The only noise in the room was the howl of the wind; it had finally stopped snowing. From the view at her window it was easy to see a good three feet covered the ground in all directions, it could have easily been more in some parts and nearly impassible in areas further in the mountains. She bit her lip and craned her neck, trying to peak around the edge of the building and to the ground beneath her. With steady hands, she reached up and tried the window.

  
The latch held fast and refused to open as she jiggled it lightly at first then with as much force as she had; still nothing. With a bite of her lip, she looked around the room before walking back to the large four poster bed. She shook the pillowcase off of one of the giant goose down pillows and tossed it aside, gripping the case tightly in her hands and walking back to the window. With the pillow case wrapped around her hand three times, Belle made a fist and put it through the largest pane of glass.  
It hurt. It was the dull ache of colliding your knuckles with a tabletop and Belle flinched back from the cracked glass. Looking over her shoulder, she paused waiting for any signs of movement outside her door but heard nothing.

  
The light breeze that came in through the broken pane was frigid and raised goose bumps on her skin as she reached through and unlatched the window. It was a good drop to the ground and Belle decided to take her chances. The snow pillowed her fall and she sunk down into it. The frozen water quickly soaked through her sweater and the denim material of her jeans.

  
"O-oh! F-fr-.." the words were stolen from her lips in a high pitched gasp brought on by the cold. Her exclamations brought the attentions of a guard standing watch on the east corner of the building. She scrambled from her hole in the drift as he came running towards her with his standard rifle in hand.  
He mumbled something into the radio at his shoulder before yelling for her; in a few moments the entire castle would know she was outside the stone walls. "Stop! You!" he pointed to her and she faced him head on, knocking the gun from his hand.

  
His surprise to her bravery was so great he struck without thought and she used it to her advantage, ducking under his arm and jumping up, wrapping her small arms around his neck tightly. The large oaf struggled and cursed loudly as she applied pressure to the nerve in the bend of his shoulder and held tightly.

  
"Quiet, quiet," she begged as he slowly lost consciousness and slumped to the ground. Rolling off of his still form and gaining her ground again, Belle ran along the wall of Renard's fortress. Shouts could be heard and the crackle of walkie talkies coming to life were sure signs that her movements were known.

  
She hid in an alcove as a handful of guards ran past her and around the east wing. It wasn't until the pavilion at the front of the building came into view that she skidded to a stop. The area was deserted and perched on top of it, covered in weather resistant, black tarps was the answer to her troubles.

  
Belle ripped the material away to reveal a sleek, black and metallic snow mobile. A perfect machine for Renard's men to make the rounds and was now a perfect tool to aid in her escape. With nimble fingers, she felt along the bottom rail until she reached a small box. Ripping it from the underside and popping it open, a key fell in her hand and her eyes stung with tears of utter relief.

  
"GIRL!"

  
A shout yelled from behind her and she wasted no time hopping on and revving the engine, rocketing off across the mountains.

* * *

  
Renard stood silent watch from his bedroom window and he clenched his fists behind his back as he saw Belle speed off into the snow. A soft knock came at his door and he inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, calling on his non-existent patience. The knock was no doubt a guard coming to inform him of the painfully obvious. Show her kindness and she escapes; what was the saying about giving them an inch?

  
"Boss-" the man said meekly as he adjusted the strap of his gun on his shoulder. Renard didn't grace him with a response and shoved passed him. He would fix this. Like with all important tasks, he would do it himself; he would brave the cold and bring her back kicking and screaming if he had to.

  
Anderson, a stout man of obvious past military status, stereotypical crew-cut as butch as the square of his shoulders, hurried up to Renard’s side. He breathed a little harder than was probably normal for the little force he had exerted of meeting Renard in the middle of the staircase, an obvious sign of too many nights spent on the leather couches in front of the TV in one of the many dens.

  
"The girl-" his deep raspy voice said as he paused to take a breath. "We shouldn't have underestimated her." He didn't state the obvious of her escape; there was a reason he was second in command behind Felix.

  
"Gather a few men, go to the roof. She couldn't have gone far. Be my eyes and reach me over the radio if she is in sight." Renard said.

  
"You're going after her alone?"

  
Renard nodded as they reached the large doors leading to the outside pavilion. Anderson continued, "If we see her, shoot to kill?" He huddled in his black windbreaker as Renard opened the doors and the wind blew inside. Renard stopped short. Although the wind was not what gave him pause, it's not like he could feel it, Anderson's words were not what he expected. The stocky man in front of him was ruthless but the suggestion seemed a little rash, even to Renard.

  
"No," he blurted and kept his face indifferent to his surprise. "Absolutely not. I need her alive. Is that understood?"

  
"Yes, Renard." With a flick of his fingers from the corner of his eye outward, he stood up straighter and turned on heel to take up his post with his boss's instruction.

  
Renard walked out the door, leaving it open. He watched as the men either retreated or held their positions around the perimeter, no doubt informed of his wishes over their personal radios. Making sure his gun was secured to his hip, he warmed up the nearest snow mobile and pressed the throttle gently with his thumb. The machine glided easily over the tightly packed snow and he squinted as the bright sun reflected brilliantly off of the ground, making sight increasingly difficult. He was still hopeful on finding Belle rather quickly. She was in his world now and MI6 or not, living in the densely populated area of London did not prepare a person for the untamed wilderness that he called home.

  
The wide expanse of yard around the castle soon faded into dense forests and he followed the path through the trees, slowing down slightly to observe the fresh tracks of another mobile. The parallel lines were crisp and could clearly be seen winding through the pines and around the mountains; it was like shooting fish in a barrel. He ducked under a branch and pressed the gas again, standing up on the rails for a better look as he continued.

  
"You can run Ms. French," he said low with a small smirk as he told the men on his radio to stand by.

* * *

  
Belle sped along the expanse of land around the area and stomped the rail angrily as she was forced to stop at another blocked path. She forcefully threw the vehicle into reverse and tried another way; she had escaped a locked room, slipped through the hands of countless trained personnel, and her downfall was going to be the fact that she had no idea where she was going. Who the hell willingly chose to live in such a place?

  
The second path proved equally useless and she opted for the one thing she hadn't tried yet: the thick woods that were located directly behind the house. The deep green, slumping pine trees, branches weighed down by too much snow, offered a good chance to hide while she figured out the safest way out of the mountains. However, the further she ventured into the woods, the possibility of becoming even more completely and totally lost than she already was increased.

  
The distant purr of another mobile caused her heart to race as she picked up speed. Any decent path within the woods was becoming steadily more narrow but Belle pressed on. The overgrown thickets provided sight only about five feet ahead. So when the line of trees finally broke open, Belle couldn't control the scream that came from her lips. The forest simply ended, stopped short and dropped off into nothing. The nothingness was a mixture of brisk air and an empty canyon that stretched in every direction and ended miles downward in what appeared it be dark rapids partially concealed by a think fog.

  
Belle squeezed the brakes tight enough that they threatened to break under her grip but it still wasn't sufficient. The snow on the edge of the cliff gave under her weight and she jumped from the seat as the snow mobile plummeted into the canyon. With arms extended she managed to grab onto a protruding root and cried out as her body swung forward and collided with the rocks. She heard the distant splash of her escape falling into the icy waters and she held on for her life and closed her eyes tightly, straining her muscles to keep her grip. This was it, after everything she had been through with the agency, she was going to die at the hands of gravity.

  
“Do we have a problem here Ms. French?”

Belle raised her eyes to the edge of the cliff and cursed softly. Readjusting her grip on the root, she laid her forehead against the icy rock in defeat. “Of course,” she whispered and closed her eyes; Renard had found her. He made no move to help her up but instead crouched down balancing on the balls of his feet and looking at her rather smugly.

“Going somewhere?” he said. He offered her a hand and she looked at it silently before raising her gaze to him in a glare that he deserved. He chuckled and nodded past her shoulder, “It’s me or oblivion. I have a feeling you have no interest in dying today.”

She was cold, caught and he was right. She took his hand and he gripped her tightly, using his other hand to hook under her arm pit and jerk her to the surface as a few frozen clumps of earth fell in her wake. As she set herself to rights, once again on steady ground, she didn’t offer him her gratitude.

He squeezed the button on his walkie talkie, “Anderson, stand down. I got her.”

  
“Copy that Boss.” the radio crackled back. Renard kept his hold on Belle as he fished through the pocket of his windbreaker. He pulled out a zip tie; did he seriously carry the things around with him? She thought the caution was ridiculous, its not like she was going anywhere. He pulled her hands in front of her and pressed her wrists together, she was small enough that he held both with one hand easily. “Don’t look at me like that girl, you’re lucky I found you. There are worse things in these woods than me, I can assure you.”

He leaned down and pulled the zip tight with his teeth and spoke with the material in his mouth as he adjusted it.“Is that really necessary?” she said quietly as he wrapped the thin plastic around her hands.

“You’re the one who ran away. Seems we have an issue of trust now, don’t we?” Grabbing her by the forearm again, he pulled her to the snow mobile and allowed her to climb on. He sat behind her and when he grabbed the handles, the bulk of his arms formed a sort of fleshy barrier, making sure there was no way she could fall off. Belle felt this was no accident, he wouldn’t make any mistake that she could use to her advantage from now on, as far as escaping went, she had missed her chance.

They rode in silence and trees whipped past them in a blur of greens and browns. He knew the terrain better than she ever hoped to and it took them no time at all to return to the mansion. She had half expected the calvary to be outside waiting in full force for their return and ready to shoot her on sight. But there was no one. They trusted in their leader. Most countries trusted in God, anarchists had no country, so naturally the same rules didn’t apply. In Renard we trust. Belle fought the urge to laugh at the thought and as a small snigger escaped her lips, the man in question gave her a puzzled look.

“What are you laughing about?”

She shook her head as he helped her off the vehicle. When she didn’t answer his question he walked a little faster, knowing she couldn’t match his stride, and half dragged her back through the large front entrance. Applause met them as the guards lounged in the front hall, draped over the stairs and leather couches and Belle felt her cheeks grow red. She felt like a prized kill, brought back from a victorious hunt, to be stuffed and mounted over the fireplace.

With a glare from their employer, the men quieted and went about their duties. He passed her off to a stocky man who she could only assume was Anderson and shrugged out of his windbreaker. “Put her in the den. I’ll be back.” With that, he walked up the stairs and out of sight. Belle watched him go as she was dragged in the opposite direction; she was getting pretty tired of being dragged about.

**

The fire crackled under the hearth and was a major source of light for the entire room. While Belle had sat patiently on the leather couch and awaited Renard’s return to no doubt scold her for her actions of the morning, the sun had started to dip past the horizon. Daylight turned into dark quickly here; she missed London.

Lamps littered the room on wooden end tables but she didn’t move to turn them on. She was still tied and she moved her wrists under the plastic periodically to keep them from falling asleep. It was looser than the first time he zipped her and she wondered if that had been a conscious decision on his part. Anderson stood at his post in front of the door, uzi slung across his back and poised in the standard guard position: hands in front of him, one hand clamped over the opposite wrist, eyes alert but unmoving from a spot on the wall.

“How long have you worked for Renard?” Belle prompted after many moments of silence.

“Why do you care?” he said, not looking away from the wall.

In truth, she didn’t, she had simply wanted to fill the quiet. If there was one thing Belle had been taught her whole life, go for honesty. “I don’t.”

Her response must have shocked him because he looked at her then and raised an eyebrow. “How does someone like you become the Quartermaster of MI6?” he spat the name of the agency. Someone like you. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

“Why do you care?” she said flatly, giving his words right back to him. He paused and opened his mouth. Belle could see he had a retort balancing on his tongue but he swallowed it.

“I don’t.” he nodded as if that helped make the statement more true when in fact she would have bet money he was just being petty. Men of uniform always wanted to know how she had gained her title, it was if most of them couldn’t believe that one could be pleasing to the eyes and intelligent to boot. Silence fell between them once again but Belle could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile cross the man’s lips.

A door slammed outside the den and Anderson straightened his back, it seemed like an action born of many years of doing it. He opened the door slightly and peered out the crack before turning back to Belle. “He’s not that bad you know.”

Belle looked up at him, confusion written on her face, “Renard?” She gave him a you’ve-gotta-be-kidding expression and let the question hang in the air.

Anderson nodded, “Yeah, look, just go easy on him okay?”

Now she was certain she had missed something somewhere along the way. Having no idea what he was talking about, she leaned forward on the couch a bit and raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, me? Go easy on Renard? Your boss, the wanted criminal slash terrorist?”  
He gave her what appeared to be a disappointed look, the kind of sad smile you give to a child when it doesn’t understand a very simple concept. “Don’t judge things you don’t understand little lady,” his face turned into something that Belle couldn’t quite decode. “The last time a pair of tits and pretty eyes walked into this mansion, it nearly destroyed him.” And that was that. As soon as the words left his lips the door opened and Renard walked in, allowing Anderson to take his leave. It was as if the conversation had never happened, and Belle felt that was how the guard had intended it.

Renard shut the door with a soft click and turned, eyebrow raised in question, “Getting to know my staff are you?”

“Am I not allowed to do that either?” she snapped.

He sighed heavily and walked into the room. Crossing over to the table by the window, he took the stopper off a square-cut glass jar filled with some sort of bourbon that Belle could smell from her seat on the couch. “You’re allowed to do anything, Ms. French,” he looked at her over his shoulder as he poured a small amount in the bottom of a glass, “Except leave.” After a moment he poured two and carried them by the rims with one hand, walking back to her.

He set hers on the table by her side and flipped open a small pocket knife, bending forward to cut her loose. The plastic snapped, fell to the ground and Belle rubbed her wrists; there were no indentations. He had never said she wasn’t allowed to do anything, that much was true but he had locked her door the other night and if there was one thing that Belle hated more than anything, it was being locked up.

“You came with me willingly remember?” he continued. Belle scoffed at the phrase. ‘Willingly’ was putting it loosely and if he didn’t see that then he was delusional. “I brought you here to do a job. Think of yourself as an employee.”  
“I’m just not allowed to leave?”

“Correct.” He raised his glass to her slightly and nodded in agreement as he swallowed the entire contents in one sip. He poured himself another and leaned against the table. Belle looked at her own drink and felt him watching her over the rim. She reached for it, anything to get him to stop watching her like a hawk, and pulled up short. The heat from the fire had finally melted the chill off of her and she now felt a great pain in her right arm. Her breath came in a hiss between her teeth as she raised her arm and saw a decent amount of blood had soaked through the fabric of the sweater.

Renard set down his empty highball glass and pushed away from the table, “Are you hurt?”

Belle didn’t take her eyes off the sweater, “Apparently.” It sounded harsh even to her but she cradled her arm against her chest as he approached. She didn’t want his help; she didn’t need it.

Renard fished the walkie talkie out of his leather jacket that he tossed on the chair upon entering the room and asked anyone on the first floor to bring him a first aid kit. He set the black speaker on the floor as he kneeled in front of her and held his hand out. She remained still and his look of polite interest at her injury turned into a glare. “Don’t be difficult.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I can see that, that is why you are bleeding all over my couch.” he said sarcastically and continued to hold out his hand for her arm. They were silent for a few breaths before the radio crackled to life on the floor and Belle jumped. Renard ignored it and held her gaze, let them figure it out, he wasn’t about to lose his stare down with a bloody MI6 worker.

_“Renard are you in the den or the library?”_  
 _“Pretty sure he’s in the den.”_  
 _“Did he find the girl?”_  
 _“First aid kit, huh? Well does he want the big one or the small one?”_  
 _“How the hell should I know?”_

The muscles at the corner of his eye twitched and Belle fought the urge to smirk as he finally gave in and scooped up the radio. “I don’t care what size it is just bring it to me!” he barked into the speaker before tossing the entire box across the floor. It bounced and the battery pack fell off, causing the radio to fall silent. He desperately wanted to shoot something. The room became still once more and he cleared his throat and extended his hand a little closer to her. “Let me see.”

Belle slowly laid her wrist in his and turned it as best she could, giving him a better view. He couldn’t see anything past the sweater and pulled out his knife again, opening it with his teeth. He paused and looked at her, blade poised at the opening of her sleeve. Was he waiting for her to stop him? Asking permission? How would he know if the blade was too close to her skin? He couldn’t feel it. Belle wondered all of this at once but didn’t voice her thoughts, at least he wasn’t making her strip.

She nodded slowly and he cut the material away from her arm with almost a surgeon’s expertise. It was impressive. The fabric was stuck to her skin with bits of blood that had already started to dry and she winced. He paused, letting her catch her breath before pulling the rest of it off.

“How bad is it?” she whispered.

“Not bad,” he lied. “Looks like you caught it on the rocks.” That was the extent of their conversation. His deft fingers picked out small specks of dirt from the cut and she watched as he carefully used his nails to cause as little pain as possible. The action was almost tender; he had done this before. She jumped again as the door opened and a guard walked in without knocking.

Renard reached up without looking away from Belle and took a small, white, plastic box from the man. With a clean cloth, he doused it in enough alcohol to sting the hairs on Belle’s nostrils. She knew it was coming but noting prepared her for when the disinfectant made contact with the open wound.

“That hurts!” she jumped back and pulled her arm in again. He mumbled something and moved to put the cloth back on her arm and she pulled back once more. “Renard!”

He sat back on his knees and put his hands on his thighs, growling a little in frustration, “Well this wouldn’t have happened if you wouldn’t have run away.”

“Well I wouldn’t have run away if you hadn’t locked me up.” The room, however nice, did not make up for the fact that she had been trapped, alone and frightened, spending the whole night wondering if he would ever again unlock her door.

“And I wouldn’t have done that if you had accepted my offer for dinner. I was trying to be civil.”

“Oh so that is what you do when a woman refuses you? I bet you have them falling at your feet.” she pursed her lips and leaned forward, holding his gaze. He opened his mouth to respond and she cut him off, “You need to learn to control your temper.”

That stopped him. Elektra had always relished his temper, used it for her advantage, stoked the fire until he couldn’t bottle it up any longer and usually someone ended up dead. Belle was now calling him out on it, unafraid, unwavering. Who did she think she was? He opened his mouth again and closed it, looking like a fish gasping for air instead of just a man scrambling for words. He raised on his knees again and took her arm gently once more. She allowed it, no matter how it hurt, it would do her no good to contract an infection.  
“Hold still,” he mumbled. “Please.” The last word was barely audible but Belle had heard it and didn’t press him to say it again. The guard at the door coughed and this time Renard was the one who was startled. “Leave...” he said through gritted teeth as he committed the guard’s face and name to memory; if he breathed a word of this to any of the others, he was a dead man. Belle bit her lip and continued to watch him.

Tossing the now bloody cloth aside, he picked up the gauze and started to wrap her forearm. “I don’t think you fully understand why I brought you here.”

And how was that her fault? He wouldn’t tell her anything, didn’t volunteer any extra information and in the few days she had been here he had been elusive for most of it. But she bit her tongue, she knew effort when she saw it. “You’re right,” she nodded. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s more than just the code you know? So much more.” With a small piece of tape, he secured the gauze and rose to his feet. “Is that too tight?”

She shook her head and he gave a small grunt of approval, nothing more. He started to walk to the door but stopped halfway and turned back to her as if he forgot the whole point of the conversation. “Tomorrow. Would you join me?”

“For what?” she asked, turning on the couch a bit and putting one leg underneath her.  
  
“I’d like to share something with you. Show you...why you’re here.” he gestured to her before pulling his hand back quickly and picking up his jacket. “Will you come?”

She observed him and it was as if he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. It was unnerving and slightly endearing all at the same time to see him become something so normal as flustered, something so human.

“Tomorrow?” she said and he nodded in confirmation. “I-...” she stopped but it wasn’t like she had anything else to fill her time. “Yes.” It felt like she should say something else but what else could there be?

He stood waiting for her to turn him down, to defy him as she had with his offer of a meal the night before but once again the petite creature on the couch surprised even him. He picked up the walkie talkie and the batteries and held them in an awkward bundle with his jacket under the crook of his arm. There was nothing more for him to say and he turned in silence and went to the door. He had it opened and was partly through before Belle spoke up and stopped him.  


“Thank you,” she said quietly but he heard it all the same. “For saving my life.” She added, as if he didn’t know what she was thanking him for. Even if she had been trying to escape him, she could have died on that cliff. The reason she still drew breath was now frozen in the doorway.

He didn’t look at her but he looked over his shoulder at the ground and mumbled, “You’re welcome.” With that he walked away, leaving her alone once again in the darkening den and the soft crackling of a dying fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long!! WHEW! Thanks for the patience! I will update more quickly in the future! I do not own OUAT or James Bond, sadly enough. Review if you wish! :D


	7. Ruby Slippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To get through to Belle, Renard takes her back to the beginning. And she starts to see, what you believe isn't always black and white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! 6 days in between chapters! That is like a record! A huge, huge thank you to Beeeinyourbonnet (her AO3 and Tumblr handle, go check her out she is amazing) for picking apart this chapter and finding what I could not. It was super important and you guys really do owe her.

 

Knocking, it was persistent, annoying and no matter how Belle buried her head underneath the large pillows it was not going away. With a groan she pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. The clock on the night stand glowed a fluorescent green and read ‘4:37' AM. It was still pitch black outside and another knock caused her to jump as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called and grabbed the throw cover off of the footboard and held it to her chest before opening the door.

Renard stood in the doorway, fitted t-shirt under his trusty leather jacket, sunglasses hanging off of his chest pocket; he was rearing to go. He took in her appearance and snarled at how opposite it was. Her curls were a frizzy mess and she had managed to find a pair of black sleep shorts and a long sleeve sweater to match.

“Why aren’t you ready?” he asked, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” she pushed the hair out of her eyes. That was right, her promise to Renard of the night before. And here he was bright and early to collect, she shouldn’t have been surprised. “Can you give me a few minutes?”

He nodded before saying gruffly, “Hurry up.” Belle watched him walk down the corridor before she shut her door and tossed the blanket back on the bed. Her feet threatened to freeze, perhaps she should talk him into some rugs; just because he couldn’t feel the hard wood didn’t mean she should have to suffer.

Having no idea where he was taking her, she stared blankly at the handful of clothes that were in her dresser drawer. They didn’t even belong to her, she had found them in the bottom, but they fit well enough. Wherever they ended up today it was bound to be cold; she doubted she would ever be anywhere warm again.

She dressed quickly and zipped up her boots, tossing a scarf over her shoulders for good measure. The one thing she didn’t have was a coat; this could be problematic. Her concerns were washed away however as she hurried down the stairs and saw Renard standing at the bottom, a long woolen trench coat thrown over his forearm.

“Is that for me?” she asked quietly. If she called him out on the fact that the gesture was almost nice he was likely to burn the coat in front of her and pretend it never happened. He nodded and tossed it to her, over judging his force, and she caught it clumsily. The day was not starting on the right foot after his care for her arm last night.

The mansion was eerily quiet; they were the only two awake in the entire place and Belle fought back a yawn as they walked towards the front. He slowed his stride and allowed her to walk beside him with ease.

“Does it fit?” he grumbled.

She nodded, “Yes, thank you.” Instead of walking through the front like she was accustomed, he turned and walked into a garage. It was large, probably triple the size of her entire flat back in the city, and with a flick of his wrist the concrete room was lit with flickering, florescent white-light. Sleek, black cars that she didn’t know the names of filled the garage along with motorcycles, and other ATVs. There was money to be made in whatever it was Renard did for a living, and judging by his estate and the hardware, business was good.

He picked a set of keys off a nail on the wall and threw his leg over a motorbike near the garage door. He picked a full faced helmet off of the back and held it out to her. She looked from the helmet to him and back again, shaking her head slowly.

“You’re joking?”she said quietly.

“Of course not,” he held it forward a bit more.

“It’s freezing,” she shook her head again and put a hand on the window of the car nearest to her.

“Don’t be difficult,” He sat the helmet down on the seat beside him; his hand poised over the handgun at his hip. He could threaten her. Make her climb on so they could quit stalling, but that was the opposite effect he wanted. He tried again, it was becoming apparent that snideness would get him nowhere.

“It’s perfectly safe and this is the quickest way,” he forced his glare to soften and he cleared his throat. “Get on.” He looked at her and waited, his patience was wearing thin. She had blanched at the sight of the motorcycle in such a way that he considered other options and almost felt bad for asking...almost.

Belle bit her lip and walked forward timidly. She took the helmet from him and raised a eyebrow, “Where’s yours?”

“There’s not really a point in me wearing one,” he waited while she climbed on, piling all of her hair into the helmet and sliding the faceplate down as he opened the door and the cold entered the insulated garage. The world was the deep blue of the early morning, the snow taking on a similar shade and as the bike growled to life, Renard flipped on the single headlight.

“Ready?” he glanced over his shoulder at her and she nodded slightly, wrapping her arms around his waist. He looked down to make sure she was holding on, unable to feel it when she did. She gave another small nod and they were off.

* * *

 

Belle had huddled against the back of Renard as they whipped around the mountains. He had gone slowly at first but once they hit an open road he had opened the throttle. The helmet protected her from the intense wind but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. They had passed through trees that soon turned into cities and eventually turned into tiny towns; all clumped together and all practically deserted in the early morning hours.

He wove in and out of the narrow roads and Belle tightened her grip ever so slightly. The blacktop soon gave way to gravel and Renard came to a complete stop.

“We walk from here.” Once the engine was turned off, the headlight grew dim and they were left in the dark. He swung his leg over and helped her climb off, noticing a slight tremor in her hands as she accepted his help and climbed down. She slid off the helmet and her hair fell down around her shoulders as she gave her pupils time to adjust.

“What about the bike? Won’t it be stol-“

“No.” he said simply and walked off down the dirt path. He knew she would follow.

Birds chirped in the woods that surrounded them and Belle pulled her coat around her tightly, retying the cloth belt as she caught up to him. Outside the mountains the snow was considerably less. The slush beneath their feet was a gritty mixture of melted drifts and the sand of the gravel. It didn’t stop it from being cold though and she considered thanking him again for the coat. While she contemplated how to coax a conversation out of him, he beat her to it.

“What do you know about the Russian government Ms. French?”

“I’m- I’m sorry, come again?” she crossed her arms under her breasts to keep the warmth closer.

“The Russian government,” he snapped before pausing and adding more civilly, “What do you know about it?”

Truth was she didn’t know anything about the country’s government other than the fact that it was a disaster. It wasn’t a priority of MI6, at least it hadn’t been for the last three decades according to the agency’s records.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, I don’t know much-“

“How disappointing.” he grumbled and Belle felt her cheeks grow red. She was intelligent, many thought her to be too intelligent and somehow he was making her feel inferior.

“I know it’s a mess. ‘A bloody disaster’,” she watched him carefully, not wanting to offend him before adding, “My boss’s words, not mine.”

Renard let out a short laugh and the noise startled Belle. She didn’t know he was capable of making such a noise and she couldn’t help but stare at him in startled emptiness. “Well your boss sounds like a smart man.”

Woman. Belle almost corrected but stopped herself. She was still the quartermaster in his eyes. If he knew that M was her boss, through his dealings with Elektra King, he would know she was really a double-oh; and that would mean trouble. For the first time since her abduction he was volunteering information and she didn’t dare obstruct his speech with something as trivial as M’s gender.

“It’s a democracy,” she piped up, hoping to redeem herself a bit.

His upper lip moved in an snarl and he shook his head, “They like to think that.”

Belle leaned forward as they took a large hill head on and their conversation died off, using their breath for the climb instead of words. The sun had finally started to rise behind them and she hoped it would cause the temperature to warm up; she doubted it, but she could hope. As they reached the top of the hill Belle stopped and looked to Renard in confusion. They had happened upon a small village, lamps still flickering in the corners of the dirt streets, having yet to be extinguished as the inhabitants awoke for the day.

“Where are we?” she said quietly, the dawn and flickering light feeling suddenly very intimate.

“Does it matter?” he said gruffly. His harsh words had Belle almost convinced that she had imagined the softer lines on his face moments before. With that, he took off down the hill without her. She hurried to catch up and fought to keep her balance on the icy gravel. Renard appeared to have no trouble with the elements and a small part deep inside of her hated him for it.

As they entered through the main road, small, decrepit houses lined the street and Belle couldn’t help the way she turned up her nose at the alleys filled with trash and the signs that were so worn they were no longer legible. When she realized the expression she was giving the poor village, she looked down at her feet in shame and was unaware of Renard observing her. Whatever he saw on her face seemed to please him.

“Is something the matter, Ms. French?”

He knew perfectly well what she was thinking but he wanted to hear her say it. Wanted the sweet, petite quartermaster to admit the place he brought her was an eyesore, wrought with disease. She shook her head in silence and continued to observe. The splash of running water caused them both to turn. A boy in ratted clothes wiped the sleep from his eyes and leaned heavily on a water pump outside what appeared to be a medicine shop. He raised his head to look at them and once he caught sight of Renard, dropped his bucket for water and ran quickly inside the building.

Belle looked up and saw an old woman watching them from her chair at a window. Deep, worried lines covered her face and she quickly closed the curtain before she made eye contact. Mothers pulled their young ones inside quickly and anyone who wondered around completing morning chores stared at the dirt. Belle felt sick at the thought that any one person could strike this much fear into innocents. They were afraid of Renard and by association, they were afraid of her.

“These people are terrified of you.” she said accusingly, not sure of why she was scolding him but she knew this kind of behavior wasn’t right.

He turned and gave her a look with cool grey eyes. The same look that Anderson had given her yesterday, the look that said she was a child in their world and she didn’t understand the painfully obvious. She wished everyone would quit doing that.

It was as if the people in the front of the town had spread the word of their arrival down the street. The road quickly became vacant and as the sun rose fully; everyone remained in their homes. He pulled up short at a tiny house at the end of the street. It was squashed between two large abandoned buildings and honestly Belle would have missed it if she had just been casually walking by.

Bricks where missing and the door was hardly enough to keep out the drafts. The small dwelling however did have new windows. Where many places on the street had cardboard covered holes, this one had what appeared to be sturdy, well-cared for glass panes. Renard walked up the one step and knocked firmly, too hard at first, not being able to judge the pressure of his knock, but softer towards the end.

A small woman answered the door. Her hands, riddled with arthritis, clutched the handle and looked at the pair of them with tired eyes. Renard said something quietly in Russian and the old woman waved them both in out of the cold. The inside of the home was chilly, not as cold as the street but close enough, the fire in the wood stove barely keeping up. Belle was thankful the woman hadn’t offered to take their coats.

She watched as the woman answered him in the same language and she wished she had taken the time to learn more Russian before joining the agency. The woman gathered her tattered skirts in one fist while putting a laundry basket on her hip and climbing the stairs leaving Renard and Belle alone in the barren kitchen.

Renard turned and opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by the sound of much smaller feet hurrying down the wooden steps. “Renard? Renard!” a higher, much younger voice called, accent laying heavy on the ‘d’ at the end of his name. The man in question turned as a young girl collided with his legs, throwing her twig-like arms around his knees. Renard didn’t stumble but he did look down, allowing the child to squeeze him like a dainty blonde boa.

She took off in rapid Russian and Renard stopped her short, “Sylvia, Sylvia. I need you to speak English,” he glanced at Belle before back down, “I’m not alone.”

She nodded and raised her head to him, “I can try. Papa- has been...teaching me.” Her words tilted at the end, almost as if she was asking a question, unsure of her abilities in something that was not her native tongue.

Belle watched in silence, almost certain she was imagining the whole thing. Renard was one of the scariest men in the world according to MI6. Ruthless, intelligent and almost super-human, waiting out the days until his death and growing stronger every second until the clock struck midnight. The reaction of the citizens on the street, now that was what Belle had expected, not this. As the little girl raised up and let go of Renard, she saw the reason she was unafraid.

Under her mop of messy blond curls, her eyes looked blankly above Belle’s right shoulder, almost looking at Belle herself but not quite. Her iris’s were a murky white; Sylvia was blind. To the small girl, Renard was not a scarred, imposing terrorist, he was his voice, quiet, slightly muttled accent and the hand at her back, guiding her from his legs and passing her off to Belle.

“Renard-“ Belle said quietly as Sylvia extended a hand. Belle did the only thing she could and touched the girl’s hand lightly so she could move in the right direction.

He ignored her and directed his question to Sylvia, “Your father is upstairs, correct? Stay here and entertain my-“ he paused on what to call Belle in front of Sylvia, somehow prisoner wouldn’t be acceptable, “...guest.”

Still holding tightly to Belle’s right hand, the small girl nodded and sat down at the rickety, handmade table. Belle sat as well and watched as Renard adjusted his jacket and went up the narrow stairs and disappeared into the dark of the house.

“What is your name?” Sylvia looked blankly in Belle’s direction once more but smiled nonetheless. She over accented her t’s and s’s but so far her English was by far better than Belle’s Russian.

“It’s uh- it’s Belle,” she finally managed to say as she stared at her new companion in confused wonder. Her clothes hung too big in places and Belle was no doctor but even she knew the girl was too thin. However the young thing swung her legs on the chair and mulled over the pronunciation of Belle’s name with cheerful interest.

“Like the- like the thing on top,” she held her hand up high above her head and made a slight swaying motion. “On top of church?”

Belle found herself smiling and nodding, realizing Sylvia couldn’t see either and speaking up, “Yes, close enough.” She looped the belt of her coat through her fingers and bit her lip gently. “How do you know Renard?”

Sylvia smiled again at the mention of the terrorist and Belle thought at any moment she would wake up from what was turning out to be a bizarre dream. “He works with my father. How do you know him?”

“He-“ she began. How the hell would she explain this? And to a girl no older than six or seven. She swallowed hard and tried again, “We work together.” It was a lame, feeble explanation and Belle mentally winced at how far it was from the truth. Sylvia jumped up and reached out, her hand laying on Belle’s arm gently before she clambered into her lap slowly and with more grace than Belle had expected. “What are you doing?”

She held her hands just in front of Belle’s face and looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry I should have asked, c-can I?”

Belle agreed to whatever Sylvia was implying. She wanted to wipe the insecurity from her voice and hold her tightly. Take her from the cold and the dark and read to her for the rest of their days. If it only took the child ten minutes to work her way into the heart of a stranger then she must have had Renard wrapped around her finger after years of his business with her father.

Sylvia reached up and her tiny fingers grazed Belle’s curls, deft hands following their shape and softness. “Color?” She whispered softly.

“Brown.” Belle said in the same tone.

“More like the dark, wooden oak of trees. Rich in color and too expensive to touch.”

Both girls in the chair turned at the male voice at the opposite side of the room. Renard stood in the doorway with a metal briefcase clutched in his left hand. His business had been quick, still not trusting Belle on her own for more than a few fleeting moments, especially after yesterdays events. His words reached Belle’s ears but there were foreign, if she hadn’t have watched him say such a thing, she never would have believed it.

“Come now Ms. French,” he nodded to Sylvia and his fingers gestured to his own eyes. “You have to be a bit more specific.”

Sylvia smiled, unable to visually notice the tension between the two adults and she turned back to Belle. She moved and gently touched the curve of Belle’s cheeks, one hand positioned a little lower on her jaw. “Eyes?”

“Like the sea,” Renard walked into the room and put the case on the table.

The child was practically bursting with excitement at Renard’s descriptions; they were relatively simple but much more than just colors. It made Belle believe that once upon a time the tiny thing in her lap had the gift of sight. She started to ask more detail but stopped as her name was called from the other room. She responded in Russian before hoping out of Belle’s lap, she stopped by Renard and said quietly, “I knew she was pretty; the voice always gives them away. You’ll come back?”

Renard stayed quiet and Belle answered, “Maybe,” she doubted the truth of her words but she found herself taking comfort in the small lie.

She hugged his leg once more before going up the stairs.

Once she was gone Renard’s expression changed to one that was more familiar. His eyes closed down into emotionless orbs, the right one drooping in disinterest. He picked up the case and said deeply. “Ready to go?”

Belle watched as he checked the contents of the case and she saw the sleek gun sitting in the black protective foam. A custom German handgun from the looks of it, complete with silencer. “So that’s what her father does for you? You have an innocent village doing your gun running for you?” She got up and walked to him, lowering her voice and ducking her head in an effort to make him look at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, they couldn’t supply all the weapons I need to run my business.” he scoffed and she waited for him to continue his explanation. “When anyone in this town comes in possession of an item I could use, I pay them triple the market value. Without me, they would starve.”

“Do they know what you do?”

“They don’t care what I do.”

“It’s not right-“

“When good people have no choice but to do bad things that is what is not right. Where is your justice now Ms. French? Everything is not as easy as you-“ he stopped and glared at her, “You know nothing.”

He left it at that but she wasn’t satisfied.

“Why did you bring me here?” she couldn’t figure it out and she didn’t like the uneasy feeling. The feeling of sadness that the broken village and it’s people left her with. The way her heart ached for Sylvia, her faceless father and whatever Renard had to do with this disheveled family. She hated all of it and she blamed him. “Why show me this, knowing what I would think? What any decent human being would think!” She threw her hands out, gesturing to the patchwork house and fought to stay quiet when what she really wanted was to yell, to scream, anything to stop him from being so indifferent.

He ignored her building anger and walked out the door. She followed him, “Renard!” She refused to be ignored, to be shoved aside like the lackeys on his payroll. Closing the door behind her, she chased him out into the street and grabbed his arm, turning him back around. “I’m talking to-“

The look he gave her stole her words. No matter how he saved her on the mountain, how he bandaged her wound, allowed Sylvia to touch him, he was still dangerous. Instead of a man, he was more like a caged tiger that nuzzled its trainer only to lick its chops and demand a fresh kill. She was still his prisoner, still his pawn and that look reminded her to know her place before he helped to remind her with the barrel of a gun.

“This is what exists outside your office building. This is the real world Ms. French. You and the British Secret Service fight to take down men like me while I fight to take down the real criminals.” He gripped her arm and pulled her close, lowering his voice.

“The chaos I cause may be for personal gain, may cost lives and level cities, but I leave people like this,” he gestured outward, “out of it. Can you say the same?”

He let her go and straightened his collar, putting his sunglasses over his eyes and walking forward. The crunch of his boots grew steadily distant and she looked around as a few townspeople shamelessly the interactions of her and her captor. His question echoed in her ears. Left a sour taste on her lips and the worst part was, she didn’t have an answer for him.

* * *

 

Belle sat on the leather couch in the library on the same floor as her bedroom. Upon their return to the mansion, Renard had left her alone with her thoughts and a manilla envelope filled to the brim with paperwork, tax records and photos of the members of Russian parliament and its rulers. She only assumed he had wordlessly shoved the folder in her arms so she could ‘educate herself’.

She had been right about the democracy, well about the fact that was the label the government gave itself. Other than that, it was merely a word. It seemed simple, the people chose a president, the president chose a prime minister to be approved by parliament. If they weren’t approved, well, there were ways around the people’s wishes and once they had the job, both men chose to do as they wished with the money and the laws. It was messy but then again so was every country.

After hours of reading and not being able to figure out exactly what he wanted her to see, she gathered up the papers and clutched them to her chest. She walked down the corridor and up the stairs, her boots echoing off the concrete and the feminine sound gaining looks from everyone she passed on her way to Renard’s room on the third floor.

“Out of my way-“ she said quietly to the few guards between her and the large door. “Please.” she added.

They exchanged looks before moving silently and opening the door for her, allowing her to walk inside. Renard stood by the window, watching the moon light dance across the snow; the only light in the room a flickering candelabra on a lamp stand, She had never been inside his room. It was decorated in rich golds and whites. She wanted to explore, to poke at the mystery of his bedchamber but she refrained. His back was to her and Belle was glad.

“What is your game Renard? Out with it now because I am tired of playing.”

“Did you read the file?” he said and didn’t turn to face her.

“Of course I read the file. So what? I know how your country works now. You didn’t kidnap me to give me a political science lesson.” she waved the hand that was not clutching the papers. His shoulders tensed but that was his only movement.

“What is it that you want? Me to help you take down an entire government!” She added the last as a quip, a jest; she gave a small, sarcastic snort at her own joke and crossed her arms. But as he turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder and she knew her joke was more or less spot on.   
“Oh you’ve got to be kidding...” she whispered and dropped her arms to her sides heavily.

He held his fist in front of his chest and examined the skin he couldn’t feel and said quietly, “How is it right that one group of men is allowed to destroy so many lives?”

“Cut the theatrics. It’s not right but it doesn’t mean that you can play God, it doesn’t mean that you can kill-“

“MI6 has killed thousands. How are they so righteous with your morality?”

“That’s not the point! We-“ She was grasping at straws, forced to suddenly argue moral high ground with a famed terrorist; something no one was ever prepared to do.

He turned and pointed to her, “You said you would help! You said you would decode the disk-“

“Yes I did! I didn’t say I would help you assassinate the Russian Prime Minister!” she threw down the folder at his feet and the papers scattered, the photos of two older men on top with bright red X’s through their faces. He looked at the files on the ground and stayed silent, she once again thought of the tiger in its cage but she pressed on.

She walked towards him and stopped about a foot from his broad chest, looking up to stare him in the face, “You knew. You knew the whole time, since you abducted me from MI6. This was your plan. To kill and murder those in power that you didn’t think were doing a good job. You knew I wouldn’t go along, so, what? You dangled Sylvia in front of me?! A blind child living in poverty to show me that the men in suits are the devil and you are the saint. Is that it? Is that what you did to Elektra? How you convinced her to join your cause before you ruined her? You disgust me- you-..you-“

Her anger grew with every sentence and she couldn’t have stopped herself if she tried. There were plenty of things she wanted to call him but none left her lips as she pulled her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. The slap echoed and she knew he didn’t feel it but it made her feel immensely better and she thought about doing it again.

His hands shot out and gripped her upper arms painfully tight, yanking her to him and shaking her slightly as he snarled in her face, “Don’t speak about her!”

His breath came raggedly as he gripped her and she allowed him a few moments of silence before she said softly but stern, “You’re hurting me.” He could have shot her. Killed her right then and there. He had killed for less than a red cheek and a bruised ego but he didn’t. His fingers let go of her slowly and he walked back to the window. There had to be a better way to handle this; but like always, dealing with Renard was like defusing a bomb. If she didn’t help him in some way he would dispose of her and continue in his quest; perhaps causing more death and destruction without her there to try and reign in him. She thought of Sylvia’s tiny hands in her hair, Renard’s descriptions and knew there was something there that she had missed.

With a deep breath, she tried again, “What’s on the disk? The one you want me to decode.”

Renard raised his head at her attempt at a different path, it caught him off guard but she hadn’t stormed out of the room and he was grateful. He pulled the disk from his pocket and held it in front of his face, speaking to the plastic instead of facing her, “Money, Ms. French.”

She didn’t understand, it seemed like such monetary things would hold no value to Renard so she remained quiet and allowed him to finish his explanation.

“It’s what makes the world go around is it not? If I can crack this I can unlock the doors to Russia’s finances. Bank accounts, federal reserves, credit, all at my fingertips. Rich, poor, old young; I’ll wipe it all. Everyone starts at ground zero.”

“What will you do with it?”

“Me? Oh I don’t want it. I will put it back into the country.” He finally looked away from the disk and to her.

Chaos. He was talking about pure chaos. But it was calm compared to what is could have been. Instead of destroying lives, he was destroying pocketbooks. He was tired of watching his beloved Russia crumble at the hands of men who didn’t love it half as much as he did. Tired of watching innocents die hungry while their leaders turned a blind eye. He was hitting the reset button on the entire nation and was asking for her help. If he succeeded, it probably wouldn’t be long before the country set itself to rights again, but it might be enough to open the eyes of those in power. Is that all he wanted? And if she helped, perhaps he would honor his promise to return her to London.

“How many more people have to die Renard?” she asked, her answer riding on his response.

“None, Ms. French,” he seemed to rethink his answer, “None have to die, but I cannot promise that they will not.”

Her mouth threatened to fall open as she watched his face and body riddled with such seriousness. “You do know this is a terrible, terrible plan. It literally will not work. We’re talking doomed from phase one. And if you can’t promise me more people won’t die then I cannot promise you MI6 won’t swoop in and destroy all of your hard work.”

He watched her carefully before finally saying, “Let me worry about that.”

She appreciated his honesty and walked to him again. He raised the disk and held it in front of her in silent question. She bit her lip before reaching out and taking it from between his fingers, quietly adding, “I’m not doing this for you. I want you to know that.”

“I never assumed you were,” he lowered his hand, “Solve the disk and I return you to London. You’re doing this for you.” She nodded, not sure which one of them needed convincing at this point and she turned and walked away from him.

She would probably need the files that were now scattered on the floor but her pride kept her from bending over and gathering them up. As she left, she clutched the plastic in her fist. She thought of Sylvia and her thin arms, her white eyes and cold home. She thought of the people in the street and those who resorted to becoming accessories to anarchy just to survive the night. It made her angry, angry at Renard, angry at the men who chose not to see the sadness and horror that she was shown today. It was pure, unbridled, justified anger and she gripped it tightly, preferring it over other emotions at the moment.

She made her way to her blue bedroom and threw open the door forcefully and stumbled at the sight that awaited her. Rugs. Large, dark rugs littered her cold floors in a variety of blues and textures. Shag, coarse, woven, she had her pick of carpeting and her frozen feet rejoiced in her boots as her heart remained slightly cracked.


	8. The Belle of the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Renard have to learn a little bit of trust to accomplish the first step in decoding the disk. I'm expecting a little bit of rage from this people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. I did create Felix and Anderson and all names of government officials have been changed for obvious reasons. Enjoy guys. Comments are loved and snuggled, each and every one of them. (I broke my record for updating!)

Chapter 8: The Belle of the Ball

The computer was mocking her. She could sense it. The screen glowed quietly and she removed her reading glasses so she could rub her eyes before laying her entire face in her hands. The glasses were new. It had become apparent after their trip to the village and Belle’s attitude towards Renard became more cooperative, that she was in desperate need of a few belongings. He had handed her a credit card and watched over her shoulder as she ordered from his computer the things she needed. Clothes of her own, fluffy towels, toiletries and when he wasn’t looking she managed to sneak a few books into the online cart. He knew about the books once they came in but he didn’t say anything and had the men carry them up to her room in silence.

She had been sifting through hundreds of top secret photos, black and white, color, blurry, close ups, she had seen them all and her head was starting to hurt. To her right sat her very own walkie talkie, Renard had issued it to her the day after she agreed to decode the disk.

She scooped it up and held down the button, “Renard?”

The speaker crackled quietly but otherwise remained silent. She rubbed her eyes again, waiting and almost jumped out of the desk chair as he responded. _“Yes, Ms. French?”_

“Can you come to the library?”

He paused again. _“I’ll be there soon.”_

She nodded and sat the device back down on the desk. True to his word he was there in minutes and set a bottle of a generic pain killer by the keyboard.

“How did you know?” she asked, both shocked by the gesture and his knowledge of her headache that could have only been a wild guess on his part.

“You’ve been up here for hours,” he sais. “Now what did you want to show me? Have you found anything?”

“Other than more evidence that this plan is awful?”

He glared at her and she waved him away, dismissing her own sass and throwing in a quick apology.

“Yes,” she said before shaking her head and pulling up a few xerox copies that she had printed earlier in the morning. “Well maybe. I don’t know.” She handed him one and continued to sort through the others. “Who is that man?”

Renard studied the photo intently, holding it to the light before laying it back down on the desk and snarling, “Boris Leonti. Secretary to the Prime Minister. He’s an imbecile; a nobody.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Belle held up her hand and laid out another series of photos. “I have a feeling he’s much more. If I’ve researched correctly, here he is in India, Vienna, and Scotland,” with each place she pointed to a new photo, “And he’s had contact with the head of every crime syndicate in at least 20 countries over the last four years. He is an imbecile because he wants to be seen that way.”

He studied the other photos and realized she was right. He was in every single one, lurking in the background, trying to blend in with the masses as he shook hands with very dangerous men and women all over the world.

“It probably doesn’t surprise you but the country is dealing in blood money. Dirty deals bring in the revenue and I would bet that if anyone has the key to that disk,” she pointed at the computer, “This is our guy.”

‘Our...’ He rolled the phrase over in his mind and quickly shook it off to focus on the more important matter. She had discovered something that he and the people he paid had missed for years. Someone was getting a drastic pay cut that was for damn sure. He scooped up another photo and crossed to the bookshelf, stroking his chin and studying it in silence.

“There’s something else,” He walked back to her and put the photos on the desk, he leaned his body over her shoulder and put one hand flat on the wood. “If you have important information where do you put it?”

“I-I don’t know. A flash drive?” she looked to where he was pointing on the pictures. “My phone...”

“Correct,” he spread the copies and pointed to each time one displayed Leonti passing a mobile phone off to one of the people he was meeting. The device was always clutched tightly in his hand and identical ones were passed from client to client. “We find Leonti, we find his phone, and I guarantee the password to that disk is on it.”

It was brilliant and she almost gave him the compliment that noticing the tiny detail deserved. Almost.

“Where can we find him?” she said and turned to face him, their noses almost colliding.   
“Sorry,” He quickly moved back and raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms. He cleared his throat. “When I gave you my credit card...did you purchase an evening gown?”

**

“This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. I did not sign up for this Renard-“ Belle said, shaking her head over and over as she put her hands on her knees, glaring at the man in question. They were in an unmarked black van in the middle of the city. It was dark, cold (what a big surprise that was) and Belle had the sinking feeling that this plan that they threw together in a matter of days was doomed to fail before it began.   
After Belle’s discovery of the linked financial ring being led by one man, Renard had set to work. He did what he did best, made phone calls, paid people off, threatened who he had to and in a few days they had tracked down Boris Leonti. He was due to appear in Moscow at the opening of a small time Art gala and it had given the pair exactly 48 hours to devise a plan.

A very poor plan at that. Belle wrapped her arms around her body and shivered in her backless dress. The blue of the satin was shimmery and so dark it was almost black, the color of a starry sky in the country in the wee hours of the morning. She had picked something with sleeves and Renard had shot it down; the purpose was for her to be eye catching and since he was paying she really didn’t have room to argue.

“Cold?” he said and she gave him the glare that the question deserved. He watched her carefully, afraid at any moment she would run from the van, screaming and attracting as much attention as possible. But Belle French was a woman of her word and as she took the ear piece and put it in place, he was trusting her with everything he had to do what he could not. So far she had complained about it every step of the way.

“Everyone out,” Renard ordered deeply and the few men that occupied the van slid the doors open and hopped out onto the pavement. Once the doors closed behind them and silence remained, he sat on a small stool in front of the bench she occupied.

“I cannot accompany you,” he started. How he wished he could go in, his men had been less than brilliant as of late and he needed her to come out of the gala alive and in one piece. “I’m a little conspicuous.” He had the humility to look down and rub the back of his neck.

“You think?” Belle snapped before recoiling and biting her lip. She muttered an apology; she was nervous, running on little sleep and he didn’t deserve her sarcasm. They were supposed to be working as a team.  
  
He nodded in acceptance and continued, “Felix will be on your arm, he looks better in a tux I assure you.” Belle wasn’t sure if he had just attempted some sort of humor but his face gave away nothing and she let it slide.

“And you think Felix looks less conspicuous than you do?” she raised an eyebrow. In the past few weeks she had come to know Felix as the cat-eyed giant. He had been the first to drag her into the mansion and was Renard’s first in command. Standing six foot five, his jet-black hair almost touched his shoulders and framed those haunting green eyes to perfection. He was rarely seen, off making sure everything operated smoothly she guessed and come to think of it she had never heard him speak.

“I trust Felix to keep you safe,” he said in a much softer tone. It was the truth. Out of all his men his head guard was the only one who fit the bill, could look the part and who he would put in charge Belle’s life. They needed the code from the man inside. Renard could beat it out of him, had even considered it at one point but no, they needed something more tactful.

She stayed quiet and simply watched him as he pretended to busy himself with the electronics on the side wall of the van. After a few moments, he pulled a case off of the floor and popped it open. She knew a wire when she saw one. The piece in her ear allowed her direct access to him and vise versa, the wire in his hand would document other noises in the room without interference. There was just one problem; where the hell was she going to put it?

“Lift you dress,” he said quickly and Belle was certain she was going to have to pick her jaw up off the floor.

“Excuse me?”

Renard’s cheeks threatened to burn and he forced it down by gritting his teeth. “Lift your dress.”

There was no way out of this, that small black box in his palm had to be put somewhere. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t protest a little. “Is there something you’re forgetting? A ‘please’ should be in there, maybe?”

He gaped at her. She was quickly becoming the most difficult woman he had ever met. “Is that really necessary?” The look she gave him was answer enough and he let out a very heavy, very audible breath before cracking his neck and trying once more. “Lift your dress, Ms. French,” he paused, making her wait long enough that she figured he might deny her again. “Please...”

Belle swallowed her embarrassment and uncrossed her legs, forcing herself to put her hands on the edge of the bench out of his way. Renard ran his calloused fingers along her thigh and spread the slit in her dress wide, hiking it up and leaving nearly nothing to the imagination. She looked to the ceiling and closed her eyes tightly, he wasn’t tormenting her or taking any sick pleasure in baring her. He had even made the men leave, knowing he would have to ask this of her and not wanting to allow her to be ridiculed. She had to believe it was just him doing his job.

He ripped a piece of dark tape with his teeth and secured the listening device to her skin. Pressing two fingers into the tape to make sure it was held firmly. “Is that uncomfortable?”

She shook her head., “I don’t think so.” Once his hand was gone, the slit in her dress fell back in place and she smoothed it down for good measure. She cursed the goose bumps that formed where his fingers had been and busied herself with adjusting the belt on the empire-waist of her dress.

The walkie talkie crackled, _“Renard? We’re ready to go.”_

“Just a minute.” he said back into the radio. “We’re clear on the plan?” Belle raised her head as he addressed her and she nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear before answering.

“Yes, find Leonti and hopefully the phone with the code with be on him. What if it’s not?” she leaned forward on the edge of the bench and willed him to look her in the eyes, to be serious, instead of his usual indifference.

“It will be. I know how these people work,” he leaned down and slid a trunk out from under the bench.

“But what if it isn’t? This plan is awful-“

“So you’ve said,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and opened the trunk. “It may be awful but it’s all we’ve got.” From the case he produced another coat, but where the one from the other day was dark and uniform, this one was not. It was beautiful. It was white and soft and made of a material as expensive as the dress she was wearing. The collar and lapels were a rich brown fur that matched her own curls and her hand reached out to stroke it on instinct.

“Before you say anything, it’s faux,” he shook the coat out and stood as much as the van would allow. His head brushed the top of the roof as he helped her put it around her shoulders and left her to button it fully. “Nothing had to die to make it.”

Astonished again by both the gesture and his sudden sense of color coordination, Belle stumbled over her words but knew she should be annoyed with his mocking tone. “I didn’t- I didn’t even say anything!”

“No, but you would have. Honestly, I’m not sure why you are so concerned with something as trivial as life.” he turned and put his own earpiece in and tested the sound system, flipping a few knobs and bringing the operation up and running.

“Someone in this van should be.”

Life wasn’t trivial and anyone who thought so shouldn’t be trusted, Belle knew that. She didn’t wait for Renard to respond and she leaned up and slid the door of the van open. The men were all waiting around the area. Perched in places so as not to arouse suspicion; some were on the sidewalk, leaning against the lamp post, some smoking and others observing. They looked the part.

Felix appeared out of no where and offered her his hand, which she took gratefully and used his help in stepping down to the sidewalk. Renard was right, the man could wear a tuxedo. His long black hair was slicked back in a way that made it appear short from the front. Even in heels, Belle was still a foot shorter than he was and had it been a date it would have made dancing incredibly difficult, she thought.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and Felix simply nodded.

“Everyone on channel 3,” Renard ordered as he leaned out of the van and looked at Belle. “Good luck. If this goes well, by this time tomorrow, you’ll be back in London.”

She jumped as he slid the door shut forcefully and Felix extended his arm. Belle wrapped her fingers around it gingerly and looked both ways as they crossed the busy street. People milled in and out of the side roads and all seemed to be headed into the same building. A well lit gallery on the corner glowed peacefully in the dusk of the city as snow began to quietly fall once again.

“You,” she looked to the man on her arm and bit her lip, “You look nice.” Quite frankly, she had exchanged more words with Anderson and would have been more comfortable with him accompanying her. But as Renard quickly pointed out, he was too military for the event, to rough and action oriented. He was to remain at Renard’s side and be an extra gun should the need arise.

Felix nodded again and Belle realized she had never heard his voice. He had never spoken to her and she had never even heard him over the radio system.  
  
“Are you just going to nod the entire night?” she asked, trying her hardest not to sound like she was nagging.

He nodded.

“Can you speak?” she raised an eyebrow and Renard came to life in her ear.

_“No he doesn’t Ms. French. Probably should have mentioned that.”_

“What do you mean he doesn’t? Did I offend hi-...”

_“It’s not that he doesn’t. It’s that he can’t. He’s mute. POW injury. Show her Felix.”_

Felix paused as they stopped behind the group of people slowly filing into the glass hall. He opened his mouth and Belle flinched back. Where his tongue should have been was nothing but empty air; a charred nub long healed and sitting useless at the back of his throat.

Belle closed her eyes tightly and held up her hand, “Oh my god. Alright I understand. This just keeps getting better and better Renard.” She shook her head and fought the urge to roll her eyes as they made it to the door. Felix offered the hostess a credit card-like invitation and she swiped it before giving them a gorgeous smile and waving them inside.

_“They’re inside boss.”_

Belle looked around as they entered and saw a man the she recognized dressed as a champagne waiter; he was touching the middle of his ear. Renard had people everywhere, she only wished she knew how he did it.

“Romanov, don’t touch your ear.” Belle said sternly, lowering her voice as they passed a small group of couples near the coat check.

_“I don’t have to take orders fr-“_

_“Romanov. Listen to her.”_ Renard growled and the younger man shut up. Belle bit back a small smile, finding great pleasure in ordering around the men who had made her life hell only a few weeks ago. The room was buzzing and Belle gently picked up a small glass of champagne as a tiny waitress passed her by. Giant canvases covered otherwise white walls and were lit in the most impressive of ways. She kept her grip on Felix as they made their way around the outside of the room, mindful of the velvet rope that kept them a reasonable distance from the art.

“Keep your eyes open,” she said as she inspected a large oil based work of a fleet of ships. Felix nodded again. She sipped her drink and turned in a slow circle, releasing Felix’s arm and placing her palm on the surface of her dress. “Do you like art Renard?”

 _“What? I don’t know. Stay focused Ms. French.”_ He barked into her ear and she rolled her eyes.

“I am focused. A girl can multitask.” She decided asking him arbitrary questions to fill the time wasn’t the best plan and remained silent as she continued to scan the room. Anderson came over the channel and said quietly, _“Target has entered the building.”_  
  
His spot on the roof of whatever building Renard had deemed fit to provide optimal eyesight had obviously given him the means to catch sight of their target before anyone else. Belle fought the urge to instantly look towards the door and instead slowly stepped around Felix and inspected the art hung in the same direction of the entrance.

_“Copy that, Anderson. Ms. French, is he in your six?”_

She turned her back to the door and bit her lip. “Yes, I see him.” Boris Leonti looked exactly like his photos. He was a tall, greasy looking man, with rat-like eyes and hands to match. Everything about him was bathed in luxury, from his expensive hair cut slightly greying directly above his ears, to his tailored suit. He smiled and women swooned, while their husbands burned with envy.

“I’m going in,” she said quietly and drained her glass before setting it on a nearby table. “Are you sure the code is on his phone?”

_“It’s the only logical place. Take Felix with you.”_

Belle shook her head, “Not a chance. Do you see that guy? He won’t give me the time of day if I walk up there with another man on my arm.” She adjusted the strap on her dress and gave Felix a nod to tell him she could take it from here. “And if he sees this ear piece, we’re done for.”

_“Don’t you dare. Keep that in your ear-“_

“I’ll keep you posted,” She whispered into the peach colored bud as she pulled it from her ear and dropped it into a glass of champagne on a passing by serving tray. She knew what they needed, she didn’t need ten men buzzing in her ear to get the job done. Renard could still hear her from the wire attached to her thigh, that was really what was important.

She wove in and out of the people milling about the gallery, eyes focused on the man at the end of the bar. He looked up and that was all she needed. She slowly reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear, glancing at his direction before turning away. He followed. They always did. Hook, line and sinker. Straining her ears for the sounds of his footsteps, she waited until he was directly behind her before turning on her heel and running into him head on.

“Oh! Oh I’m so sorry!” she gasped as her heel dug into his fine leather loafers. He grunted in pain and caught her arm in an effort to keep the both of them from spilling to the floor.

“It’s alright, alright,” he stopped and looked her over, hand remaining at her elbow as he composed himself and gave her a smirk.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she fawned over him, brushing at his suit with her hands. With one touch she new two things, his phone was on the inside top pocket and a small gun was in the bottom left, most likely a barretta judging by the way it caused his suit to hang off center.

“I’m fine,” he nodded and bit his lip as he moved his hand from her arm and brushed the side of her dress. His eyes lingered in all the wrong places and Belle felt her skin crawl. “You’re English?” She had upped the accent to make him follow her, it was obvious enough that his question was unnecessary and simply him trying to woo her.

“Is it that obvious?” she forced a blush and looked down at her feet. He smiled and she knew in a matter of seconds he would be eating out of her hand.

**

“Fuck!” Renard threw off his head set and kicked the desk on the inside of the van. The Vehicle shook and he stayed still for a few minutes, allowing it to stop so as not to draw unwanted attention. Who did she think she was? He had given her a direct order to leave the ear piece in. This was it. This was how she would escape. She was cutting off his communication and going to escape again. He knew better than to trust her this early.

He scooped up his head set and yelled into the microphone, “Get me in there!” She had been right, the plan was going to hell before it even began but she was the cause of its downfall.

_“Boss, we can’t do that. Someone might recognize you.”_

Then there was that small problem. He took a deep breath through his nose and snarled into the headset. “Well, then someone get in there and drag that woman from the building.”

_“Boss-“_

“Do you understand me?”

_“Yeah but boss-“_

“I will do it myself if I have to. She will not-“

 _“Renard!”_ Anderson this time. His voice cut through the protests from the others and gave their leader pause.

“What is it Anderson?” he said through gritted teeth.

_“The girl is leaving the building. Felix is on her arm. Both appear to be unharmed.”_

“What?” Renard tossed the microphone down once more and stood, crouching so as not to hit his head on the top of the van and moved towards the door. He gripped the handle and flung the door back, his surprised eyes meeting Belle’s triumphant ones. She climbed into the van and plopped down across from him as Felix went around and got into the drivers side. The van started and she crossed her legs and looked at him, calm as could be and it baffled him.

“What happened? You took your ear piece out. I told you not-“

She opened her coat and pulled out a thin, black phone; sleek and expensive, it was cupped in her palm and she held it out gracefully. “And I told you I could handle it.” He reached for it and she snatched it back dropping it down the front of her dress.

“What are you-,” he moved forward again, his face contorted in the beginnings of rage. “Woman! Give me that-”

“Temper!” she scolded and leaned back out of his reach, crossing her arms. Renard stayed poised reaching for the phone in mid action before realizing she was as unwilling to yield as he was. The brick wall had met it’s hard place. She waited till he sat back down and she began again more gently. “It’s safe. We have it. Mission accomplished. Don’t you trust me?”

He didn’t answer but gave a small grunt in agreement. The phone was theirs and neither the device or the stubborn woman were going anywhere. She continued. “See, that wasn’t hard.” She did her best to make her words matter of fact and nodded towards the front. “Help Felix get us back. I want warmer clothes, please.”

Renard wasn’t sure when she deemed it was okay to be the one giving him orders; all he knew was that he didn’t like it. Elektra had done the same. Giving orders from her plump lips that dripped with a poisonous honey that he swallowed every time. He didn’t need the same treatment from Belle as well. She managed to be infuriating and stubborn and he wanted to throttle her. But once she tacked on those blasted ‘please’s’ to the end of her every phrase, he found himself bowing to her demands. God help them if she ever figured out that was what did him in.

**

Belle heaved a sigh of relief as they made it back into the mansion. Entering through the grand doors meant she could once again be warm. She wanted to dive under the covers and not leave for weeks. The last few days had been too much planning, too much anticipation and not enough sleep.

The jeans that she had slipped on under her dress in the van had given her another layer but it hadn’t been quite enough. Felix took the coat from her shoulders without being asked and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

With steady balance, she reached down and slipped off her heels before hooking her fingers in the edges and holding them by her side. After working in the field at MI6, heels had been a luxury, and these were painful enough that he decided to brave the cold floor on the way to her room. Renard came up behind her and she fished the phone out of the top of her dress before facing him and holding it out.

“Here,” she said gently. He had not argued about it or attempted to snatch it for the entire ride home, he earned it. Somehow Renard seemed to react to positive reinforcement and she seized the opportunity.

He took it from her slowly and let out a breath; thankful to have it in his hands at last. Although he couldn’t feel it, his eyes darted to where she had been stowing it and his imagination ran rampant that the device was probably pleasantly warm from contact with her skin. The thought was fleeting and dismissed quickly as he gave his normal snarl of approval.

Did he shake her hand? Hug her? How did normal people celebrate a job well done? Hell if he knew. He settled for pleasantries.

“Thank you, Ms. French,” he said, slipping the phone into his pocket with a nod.

“Tomorrow then, we’ll solve it?” she prompted, moving with him to the bottom of the staircase.

He nodded. “Tomorrow. I appreciate the help.”

She shrugged, “Whatever it takes to get me home.” With that she turned and began the climb. It was late and her feet hurt. With heels in hand she said goodnight and put a hand on the stone bannister. Anything else could wait until the morning.

Renard couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that she was still holding onto the hope of getting home. He hadn’t quite worked that part out yet or if he was taking her back at all. He called out to stop her, walking up a handful of steps to meet her in the middle.

“Ms. French?”

She stopped and turned, dress long enough to make a soft whisper against the steps. “Yes?” she said quietly in that damned voice that was more alluring than Elektra’s ever was.

“You did we-“ Damn, how did he do this? It wasn’t rocket science, it was a simple compliment and yet it felt like if he accomplished it he should win some kind of award. “Tonight, you looked-”

Stunning. Nice. Clean, maybe. Any of those would have worked, the last was awful but at least is was something. She waited patiently for him to continue, she was always patient, be he closed his mouth in silence.

“I looked- what?” she asked, trying to help him. Renard went to try again, looking up at her standing just a few steps above him and he stopped. His face contorted and he looked down at his feet as a slight sweat had broken out on his brow. Belle noticed and took a step back down in his direction. “Renard?”

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He clenched his fist and watched in awe as his muscles refused to do what he wanted. In his mind he was opening and closing his hand, in reality he was simply staring at his fingers.

“Renard?” Belle asked again and took another step down to him. His eyes glazed over and looked blankly a few feet in front of him. He saw her mouth moving but couldn’t hear any words as his world went black. He crumbled at her feet and skidded down the steps before ending in a heap on the wooden floor at the bottom. The sound his head made against the floor was like a brick being tossed on a porch. Belle threw down her heels and gathered up her dress, hurrying down the stairs quickly.

“Renard!” His eyes had rolled back, half closed, they continued to move rapidly beneath his eyelids. He convulsed at her feet, making noises that sounded like he was fighting for air. She dropped to her knees, the stone of the steps no doubt ruining the dress but she didn’t care. Belle looked around, searching for help, one of the men, Anderson, Felix, anyone and found nothing.

She did the only thing she could, screamed. She put her hands on Renard’s shoulders as he seized and tried to protect his head from the steps without holding him down by force. He wasn’t stopping and the noises were getting worse.

“HELP!” she yelled and scrambled for his fallen radio, scooping it up and pushing the button. “Somebody!!”


	9. What Our Scars Remind Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me about Elektra King," She paused and added softly, "Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over sharing, vodka and snow. Sorry for the heartache.

“Help!” Belle held down the button on Renard’s personal radio with such force that her fingers started to cramp. “Please!” She dropped the device to have the use of both hands and she placed her palms under Renard’s shoulders trying to protect his head. Convulsions, a rigid body and rapid eye movement; it was all signs of a seizure and it didn’t look like it would stop.

“What the fuck did you do?!”

Belle turned as Romanov ran into the hall first, gun raised and pointed directly at Belle’s head. He thought this was her fault. They had been left alone and now their leader was in a heap on the floor, of course they would think she was the culprit.

Her eyes grew wide and she tried to ignore the automatic pistol pointed to her skull. “I-I didn’t do anything!”

Anderson came next, skidding to a stop beside Romanov. “God dammit, Romanov! Put that down!” He slapped the top of Romanov’s pistol with his palm, making it point to the ground and Belle let out a shaky breath of relief. Renard made a strangled sound and it brought her attention back to the man at her knees. “What happened?” He put the strap of his own rifle across his shoulder and stooped beside her.

She bit her lip and tried to think clearly, she glanced at his wrist. “Give me your watch.”

Anderson didn’t ask questions and un-clipped it. She took it gently and hit the button to start the stopwatch. Renard let out a painful sound as his back bowed and Anderson helped Belle to keep him on his side.

_15 seconds._

Anderson felt around in his pockets and raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t he be biting down on something?”

Belle shook her head. “No, that’s a myth. Just keep him on his side.” If it was indeed a seizure, nerve, epileptic, it didn’t matter, it should stop after a minute, no more than two. His eyes were partly opened and she watched them move back and forth at a steady speed, it was eerie and she prayed it would stop soon.

“Should I call for backup?” Romanov said, still standing and now gripping his gun awkwardly with no where to point it.

“No, stay right there.” Anderson said gruffly. He adjusted his large hands on Renard’s shoulder and looked to Belle who was staring at the moving numbers on the face of the watch.

_45 seconds._

It felt like an eternity. And then, as quickly as it began, it stopped. Renard stopped convulsing and became dead weight in Belle’s free hand. She returned the watch to Anderson and observed the other man quietly. He lay on his side, his arms held out in front of him and his shoulder still held in Belle’s tiny hand. She lowered him down gently and used two fingers to check his pulse, closing her eyes and feeling the tiny flutters against the pads of her fingertips. It was a little faster than it should have been, but it was there and it was strong.

“Renard?” she said quietly and he remained motionless. With steady breath and a now relaxed form, to the outside eye he would have looked like he was in a peaceful sleep. “Help me move him,” she told Anderson and they stood in unison. “I think he hit his head, I want to look at it.”

Anderson set his rifle down and moved to the head of his boss. He took most of the weight as Belle grabbed Renard’s feet and they moved him the handful of steps to the den and laid him on the leather couch. He switched on the lamp closest to the love seat as Belle kneeled on the floor.

“What happened?” he asked, the time for questions arising once the commotion had ended.

Just as she suspected, there was a tiny cut on the side of his head just above his temple. It was small, most likely caused by the edge of the steps, a rough part in the stone. There would be a hell of a bruise even if he wouldn’t feel it. She looked around the floor for something to use and Anderson handed her the tiny first aid kit, no doubt left from her incident on the mountain.

“Thank you,” she popped it open and talked while she got what she needed. “We were talking on the steps. He was saying that I-“ she stopped and looked at Renard. If she hadn’t been mistaken he was about to tell her she did a good job, compliment her on the dress, something kind. For some reason she felt if she told Anderson, Renard would deny it ever happened. She shook her head, “Just talking, and then it’s like he couldn’t hear me. He fell and you arrived in time for the rest.”

Belle dabbed a quarter sized drop of peroxide on the gauze and started to tend to the cut. It cleaned easily being so fresh and she doubted it would need any kind of bandage. Anderson remained silent for so long that she finally turned and looked to him, holding the used cloth in her lap.

“You don’t seem very shocked. Has this happened before?”

Anderson leaned against the mantle above the empty fireplace and rubbed his forehead before nodding, “Yes, once. No one else knows” He gave her a stern look. “And we’d like to keep it that way.”

Belle nodded and turned back to Renard. He made a soft noise and she raised up on her knees. “Renard?” She asked Anderson for some ice and he went to fetch it. With a bite of her lip, she hesitantly reached out and touched the side of Renard’s head; cradling it in her palm and feeling the short, nearly nonexistent hair beneath her fingers. She spoke more firmly, trying to gain his attention as he swam up from the fog.

“Renard, can you hear me?”

He nodded slowly, a movement so small that Belle would have missed it had she not been looking, and kept his eyes shut. The voice close to his ear was prettier than Anderson’s; was he dead? Probably. Only one way to find out. It was female, that much he was certain.

“Elektra?” he grumbled.

Belle shook her head, “No, it’s Belle.” She used her thumb to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple and he slowly opened his eyes. She smiled, a little unsure of what else to do. “Do you know what happened?”

Belle? He didn’t know the name. Oh right, Ms. French. He tried to remember. He was on the steps, talking. Talking to- Belle and then nothing. He shook his head ‘no’ in response to her question, she would probably tell him all about it in great detail anyway. The door opened and they both looked. Renard moved too quickly and his head swam, Belle placed a hand on his chest to keep him down and he looked at it like it was something extremely foreign.

“Stay down,” she took the ice from Anderson and placed it to the small knot on his head.

“You know there is no point to that right?” he growled and looked at her the best he could.

She shushed him and kept it in place, “The fact that you can’t feel it won’t stop it from swelling.”

He left it alone. At any moment he felt like he might vomit. The world was moving and it only stopped when he closed his eyes so that is exactly what he did. The dark was nice, it was quiet and as much as he wanted to get up and run from the woman kneeling beside him, he stayed still.

“Who saw?” he said quietly and Anderson stepped up to the leather couch.

“Just Ms. French, myself and-“ he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back a bit, “Romanov.”

“Christ-“ Renard groaned and put a hand to his forehead. “Tell that little bastard that if he says one word-“

“I’ll handle it.” Anderson cut him off and nodded. He looked to Belle who was stilling applying ice to Renard’s skull before he glanced once again at his boss. “Y’good? I was just about to start the rounds-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Renard opened his eyes and was thankful that he could once again see clearly. He raised slowly and waved Belle away adjusting himself into a more comfortable spot on the love seat. “Go on.”

Anderson nodded and took his leave, shutting the door behind him quietly. Belle held the ice in her lap and pushed the cubes around underneath the bag with her thumb, taking far too much interest in how the warmth of her skin caused them to melt slightly. Renard looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing- Nothing.” she shook her head, tossing her curls, still pretty and styled from the gala that evening.

He got up and used the back of the couch to make it to the table. She watched with stern eyes as he braved standing only to half collapse, hands catching himself, on the crystal bottle of bourbon. With shaky hands, he tossed the cap to the ground with a thud and grabbed a glass. Belle scrambled to her feet and hurried towards him.

“No! No you don’t-“ she put both her hands over his on top of the bottle and he looked at her in surprise. “That’s not a good idea. You need rest and water. Not this.”

He looked at her hands on his and for a moment considered the consequences of grabbing her by the throat and demanding a little respect. She was his prisoner. He thought about tossing her from the den and doing what he damned well pleased. However, he did none of these. Belle French hadn’t been a prisoner for at least the last week, at least not in the literal sense of the word. She was only acting on the freedom that he gave her, her actions were his fault; maybe he should tighten her leash?

“Sit down,” she bit her lip and added softly. “Please.”

There was that damned word again. He watched her quietly for a moment before leaning against the arm of the couch. It wasn’t exactly what she asked for, he could comply without obeying her. It was petty but he didn’t care.

She leaned against the table and faced him; tucking her hair behind her ears before crossing her arms. “I’m sorry if I’m a little startled by what I just saw. Anderson said that it- that it’s happened before.” Her words tilted up at the end, making her statement less sure of itself. She had questions, of course she had questions, she never bloody stopped asking questions.

He looked down and studied his knuckles, picking gently at a scab left from an old injury that he couldn’t remember getting.

“Twice,” he looked up, expecting shock on her face and instead was met with confusion.

“But Anderson said-“

“Well he wasn’t there for the first time,” he finally gave in and sat properly on the couch, wanting to have something at his back just incase. “I was in the library. Woke up on the floor.”

“Have you had someone look- you know a professional-“ she stood and moved closer, concern written on her face. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Of course I have!” he snapped. She jumped and he gave her a moment to relax once more in poor apology. “There’s nothing they can do. I’m already dead.”

She glared at him then. No concern; not the face she had when holding the ice to his head, no this was more stern. “You’re not dead Renard, you’re sitting right in front of me. Right now, right here, in this moment, you’re just as alive as I am.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t grace her with a look; she would have taken anything now, his indifference, his temper. That was the second time tonight he had dismissed life and quite frankly she was tired of it. She tossed him the melting ice and he caught it with surprise. He had upset her. But god dammit, he couldn’t think of why.

“Ms. French-“ He tossed the ice on the couch and tried to get up.

“You don’t need anything else? Good.” She hadn’t given him time to respond. Instead, she walked to the door and didn’t look back, adding gently as she closed it behind her, “Good night.”

It clicked shut and he plopped back down, heavily. Should he chase her? Apologize? No. She was a good person and her kindness was just her character. She cared nothing for him personally and he owed her nothing. So he let her be. Left her to her own devices, to make her way upstairs and hopped he wouldn’t have to face her come morning. He propped his head on his hand and sulked alone in the dark den.

* * *

 

Renard’s library was impressive and Belle was pleased to say that she was not surprised. All the great villains were well read, so naturally his collection was extensive because Renard no doubt saw himself as one of the greats. Even though Belle was seriously starting to think that along the way his sense of evil had been replaced by a misguided sense of right and wrong. But she would never tell him that.

There was no sign of him anywhere and like she promised, when she awoke she had grabbed a quick bite from the kitchens before setting to work on the code. She warmed her hands with her mug of tea as the computer hummed to life and she typed away deciphering Leonti’s mobile phone first. A small wire provided by one of Renard’s men allowed her to hook the device to the computer and pull up records, messages, everything she needed on a larger screen. She had radioed asking for the wire in hopes that Renard would stop avoiding her and respond. He didn’t. The messages on the phone were in Russian and most of her time was spent translating enough to know if the message was significant or not. It would have been faster if Renard were at her side; what exactly about last night had been so unsettling to him?

She was now perched on one of the oversized chairs; legs curled up beneath her and a book in her lap. The weight of it in her palms a comfort like she had never known. She was so lost in the pages that she didn’t hear Renard enter the library at last.

“What are you doing?” he stopped in the doorway and she looked up.

“Taking a break,” she watched his face contort and she narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to object to her actions.

“Fine,” he nodded curtly and turned to go. She shut the book and laid it on the table, jumping to her feet.

“Wait-,” once he turned around, she continued. He was going to leave again. She bit her lip and hesitated just long enough without letting him barge from the room. “Tell me about Elektra.” she said meekly.

He stared at her, his jaw open in astonishment. He observed her carefully but she remained in place, eyes hopeful that he would accept her request instead of shooting her down before leaving her with nothing but her own thoughts. “You don’t want to know about Elektra.” he stated.

“Of course I do. Tell me about Elektra King,” He opened his mouth to deny her and she cut him off. “I’ve been here for two weeks. The men avoid me, terrified you’ll make an example of them if something goes wrong while they guard me. And _you’re_ never around.” He wouldn’t allow her to use the phone- its not like she had anyone to call though, no family, or friends- but it was the principle.

“You don’t want my company,” he said quietly and watched her eyes.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” she placed a hand on her hip.

He gave it pause, rolled the request around in his mind before shutting the door quietly. The cabinet under the wooden desk was filled with liquor bottles and he rifled through them, the glass clanking softly as he looked for what he wanted. Belle didn’t object, his episode of last night was over and perhaps the story he was about to give her required something stronger than the tea in her mug.

He stood back up with a bottle of clear vodka in his hand and no glass, he simply took off the cap and took a drink. Belle winced with him, imagining how awful the taste was.

“Tell me how you became apart of MI6,” he shoved a stack of books on the floor and sat on the edge of the desk. She watched them fall in a clump to the ground and her hands itched with the need to pick them up but she stayed put.

“You tell your story and I will tell mine.”

“Ladies first.” He took another drink and held the bottle out to her. She shook her head and waved the vile stuff away. She sighed and sat back down on the chair. He wasn’t going to budge. But going first was a small price to pay if it meant she didn’t have to be alone like every day prior to this. It was threatening to drive her insane.

“My mother died when I was young, car accident. My father was part of the British armed forces. Little of this, little of that but never secret service,” she began and Renard shifted uneasily on the desk. He wasn’t ready for private knowledge, but he had asked for it. She had MI6 trying to find her and now apparently a dangerous father, he had definitely bitten of more than he could chew with this woman.

“I graduated top of my class and when I told him I wanted to be just like my papa he shot it down,” All little girls wanted to be like their dad in some form or another and Belle had been no different. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and stared at her hands, suddenly very interested in her cuticles. “You see the thing about my father was he was very old fashioned. He loved me, but he didn’t like the idea of a woman guarding his back.”

She might have laughed softly but he could tell her father’s patriarchal way of thinking hurt her. Top of her class, working for British Secret service, well, if he wasn’t proud then her father was a damned fool. He thought about commenting but stayed quiet.

“So it became my mission, that hopefully through my studies and cleverness, I would out rank him in his retirement. And he would have to salute me.” She bit her lip and looked down again.

Renard watched as she stared blankly at the floor. He held onto her every word and stood a little straighter, asking quickly, “Well did you? Did he have-“

“No.” She shook her head and looked at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears even though she was still smiling sadly. “No. He died.” She said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic what he assumed was her father and failing miserably. “‘One more mission, my girl. It’s for England, I can’t say no.’ He never came back. He died somewhere near in Turkey, along the edge of the Caspian Sea, and his file is so locked up I have no idea how.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and laid her chin on them, speaking as she looked to the shelf of books directly behind Renard. “MI6 offered me a job shortly after and I took it.” She looked at him then, “Orphans make the best recruits, we have nothing left to lose.”

Renard took another drink and was still for a handful of seconds before saying quietly, “Funny, the same could be said about an anarchist.”

She knew it was meant to be a comforting statement but all she could do was nod. Belle wiped her cheek as a tear escaped and she hastened to cover it up, she looked to her feet and held out her hand. “I’ll take that drink now.”

He pushed away from the desk and held out the bottle to her. With no lid on it, she put it to her lips and took a drink. After a fit of coughing, she flinched back and laughed breathlessly. “Oh my- Oh my god it’s awful!”

Renard felt his upper lip twitch, the closest he ever came to an actual smile, as she passed it back to him. “Guess you don’t have Russian blood.”

“Guess not,” she continued to laugh and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. As he took the bottle back from her she took a gulp of tea and said expectantly, “Now it’s your turn.”

He shook his head, “I don’t think so.” Belle almost jumped from the chair as her face was washed with disappointment. Of course he wasn’t going to tell her, he had never planned on telling her something as painful as the story of Elektra King. But it wasn’t fair, they had made a deal.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and said softly, “Please?”

God fucking dammit. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, rubbed them hard enough that he saw spots, anything to get the image of her hopeful blue eyes out of his brain. He took another drink and walked to the book shelf, facing away from her and leaning his head on his forearm. They had made a deal and if he was going to stay in the library with her, he had to give her something. “What do you want to know?” he said deeply.

“Everything,” she said a little too excitedly before looking down and correcting herself. “I mean- start from the beginning.”

“You’ve read the file I’m sure, what is left for me to tell?”

“I know the story MI6 keeps on file. Elektra’s story. I didn’t say I wanted Elektra’s story, Renard. I want yours.” He continued to stare at the books in silence, so she tried a different route. “Did you kidnap her?”

“Yes.”

“Did you help kill her father?”

“Yes.”

“Did you force yourself on her?”

He looked at her then, a quick jerk of his head as he looked at her in surprise. “Never.” He had never laid a hand on her. Even when she asked for the sake of sending her father a ransom, he had refused and she was forced to mutilate her own flesh. The men had never touched Elektra, unless she wanted it, that thought alone brought up memories that made him sick. In this mansion the woman had been a goddess.

Although she didn’t say it, Belle felt a great weight lift from her heart at that. When Elektra had been found, that was the story that she clung to, how she gained most of her sympathy. Renard and his men had taken her innocence, all of it, in every way but now that, along with most of her story was a lie as well.

“Did you love her?”

There it was. The grand finale of questions. And he refused to answer. His love for Elektra had been his greatest mistake; it had almost killed him, much faster than the damn bullet in his skull ever would. He had been stupid and he promised himself, never again.

“Elektra was ruined before she came to me. Jaded. Devious. Filled with rage. She was a loaded gun that fell into my lap,” he looked to her at last, “I just simply pulled the trigger.”

Belle stood and trailed her finger across the wood of the table before doing the same to the wooden shelf level with her waist. She drew patterns in the dust as she approached him and bit her lip. He watched her carefully but didn’t move as she inspected the tiny cut on his temple from the night before. To her surprise, he let her touch his head, he couldn’t feel it and it cost him nothing.

“I was there, you know?” she started quietly. “When they brought her in. She’s gone insane Renard, excuse me for saying but it concerns me that you had part in that.”

“She’s a wonderful actress Ms. French,” he watched her hand as it slowly moved away from him. “She will show you what she wants you to believe.”

Elektra King had told Belle that she still loved Renard, that she always would. Was it possible to love such a man? Was the devil not once an angel? She chose her next words carefully as she decided that even after years of being separated, he wasn’t ready to hear more of Elektra’s painful lies.

“She said she called you Victor? Your real name. Said she favored it over the alias.”

He caught her wrist as she moved to touch his wound again and she gasped. “Lies.” he growled in her face before releasing her gently and walking to the window. Pressing his palms to the glass, he willed to feel the chill beneath his skin but like always he was disappointed.

“I tried. Gave her the privilege of using my real name.” How he had longed to hear it spill from her lips in affection but she had denied him that as well. “But it was too common for her. Not a name one uses to take over the world.”

Belle watched his back; the tension in his broad shoulders apparent as he told her things no one else had ever heard. Her big heart ached to offer him comfort of some kind but he would no doubt snub any offer of physical touch, such things held no meaning for Renard. So she did the only thing she could.

“Victor,” she whispered. It wasn’t common, it was lovely. Much better than the code he had chosen for himself.

He gripped the window ledge and shivered, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

“Victor,” she said more firmly, letting the word roll around on her tongue like chocolate. She gave the name the affection of her voice that it deserved and prayed it would be well received.

“Don’t-“

“Victor-“

“I said don’t!” He turned on her with rage in his eyes and crossed the room with a stride full of purpose. “Stop!” He grabbed her upper arms and yelled in her face.

“Don’t what!?” she asked loudly as she brought her hands in close to her chest and recoiled from his thunderous voice.

“Pretend you care,” He released her roughly and she stumbled back into the book shelf. Catching herself as best she could while she watched him make a beeline for the door.

“Renard, I’m-“ she hurried her words to catch him but it wasn’t fast enough. The door slammed and the vodka bottle fell and crashed on the floor. “Sorry.” she whispered into the empty room.

* * *

 

“Do you know why you’re here? Both of you.”

James sunk a little lower in the straight backed chair across from the chancellor’s desk. He sat next to M and the pair of them waited patently for the curt woman behind the desk to continue but she didn’t; she clearly wanted an answer.

“Because the government loves to waste my time?” Bond offered and the corner of M’s lip raised in a halfhearted smirk.

“Don’t be cute,” she snapped and clasped her hands together on the desk’s surface. “You both are in serious trouble. And you, M. I expected better from the head of operations.”

“So England doesn’t care what we do just what we get caught doing? Is that what you’re saying?” M said sharply, crossing her legs at the ankles and appearing proper as James sulked in defiance.

“Two incidents in half a month, M! Two!” The woman behind the desk jumped up and put her hands on the wood, staring them both down. “First you allow an agent to be taken hostage, then you lose our only lead! In the case of Renard and his reign of anarchy, Elektra King was all we had and the two of you lost her.”

James shifted in his seat and forced himself to sit a little straighter, he would behave for M’s sake, act professional for the boss he respected but he didn’t have to like it. He was losing his patience. It was a poor choice of words that they had ‘lost’ Elektra; it had been discovered that the agency had a man on the inside, a mole that was long gone by now and Elektra King had escaped.

“Why did Renard want Agent 009?” the chancellor said as she sat back down and straightened the items on her desk.

“He doesn’t know she’s an agent,” M said, putting her hands in her lap. She didn’t give away any extra information with her voice or the fact that Renard had originally thought he was kidnaping Q. The men behind the desks only needed to feel like they were being kept in the loop and that was something the older woman specialized in.

“Really?” she tapped a beige nail to her cheek and hummed with thought. “We might be able to use that-“

“Belle is an agent! Not a pawn in your bloody chess game.” Bond raised up and snarled.

“Sit down 007!”

James did the opposite. He straightened the cuffs on his suit jacket and walked out of the office, leaving M to deal with the woman he wanted to strangle. They had no right to even suggest using agents as blackmail. Double ohs risked their lives every day for the queen and the country; they deserved a little respect.

“I hate to do this M, but it seems the only way to get things done anymore,” she handed M a small manilla envelope and said firmly. “Find 009, capture Elektra King and kill Renard, or I think it is time you looked at other options.”

M opened the file and looked blankly at the pages within, “You’re firing me?”

“Think of it as- ‘retirement planning’. You’ve done this country a great service but all things must end.” She stood and smoothed her skirt as she showed the older woman to the door. “I do hope it doesn’t come down to such things.”

As she walked down the steps of the government building, she saw Bond was already waiting in the car. He slipped on his dark sun glasses as she slid into the back seat. They both glanced at the folder in M’s small hands and Bond smirked as she threw it out the window and into the light rain. They would find Belle, but they would do it their way.


	10. Just Like Jesse James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your heart is down for the count and you know you're gonna loose it. Tonight you're gonna go down in flames..."

Belle had been dreaming and it had been awful enough that when the knocks at her door awoke her in the early hours of the morning she was happy to hear them. The noise drug her from the clutches of unconsciousness and she sat up slowly with a groan, pushing her curls out of her face. It was so early the only light that came through her window was the silvery lines of the moon that swam along her floor, over her coveted rugs and finally ending at the foot of the bed.

The knocking had stopped. Twisting her body and leaning across the length of the oversized bed, she flipped on the light and let out a small scream as it illuminated Renard standing by her bedside. He was so quiet.

“Renard!” She gathered up the sheets and held them to her body. Although she was fully clothed there was something personal about being in her pajamas. “Why are you in my room?” she asked a little breathy as her pupils adjusted to the lamp and her surprise gave way to outrage.

“I knocked, you didn’t answer.” He said like it explained everything and made his actions perfectly acceptable. His inner clock seemed to be broken and come to think of it Belle had never seen the man sleep. She wondered if he did– he was ‘superhuman’ after all.

She hadn’t seen him since the incident in the library yesterday; he’d been avoiding her ever since. Something must be wrong. “What is it, what do you need?” she rubbed her eyes as she asked, putting her hands in her lap as she addressed him.

“Felix has been shot. We need you downstairs.” he said and her eyes widened.

“W-what? How?” She shook her head as he tried to answer. “Never mind, let me get dressed, please.” He nodded in approval, responding to her efficiency and going to wait outside. Once the door shut, Belle jumped up and pulled on sweat pants, skipping the boots in favor of a pair of fuzzy yellow socks. Anderson called her ‘duck’ when she wore them in the morning’s but they kept her feet warm and ever since they arrived with the rest of her Renard-bought-clothing, she cherished them. She looked up as her beside lamp flickered and finally went out. Cursing softly in her head as her ears made sense of the roaring wind outside her window. If they had lost power, how on earth did they expect her to be of any help to Felix?

On the way out the door, she grabbed her reading glasses and put a thick medical encyclopedia under her arm. She expected the mansion to be in a state of chaos, yelling, panic maybe? Instead, it was silent and pitch black. As she came to the bottom of the steps she stubbed her foot on the table in the corner, it honked against the wood floor and she hopped clumsily, catching herself on the doorframe.

“Ms. French?”

She grumbled in pain and followed the sound of his voice into the kitchen. Felix sat at the large dinning table with his shirt off, his back hunched. Renard placed the glass globe over an oil lamp as he lit it and Anderson was on guard by the door.

“Why are we suddenly concerned with the electric bill?” She asked quietly, hoping she was wrong about the power outage. She slipped on her glasses, the low light and the early morning hours making perfect sight increasingly difficult.

“Blizzard came in the middle of the night and just knocked out the power, Romanov and Petros are working on the generator, duck.” Anderson informed her.

Well she had assumed right about her flickering lamp. Belle’s cheeks grew slightly warm at her nickname and she moved passed Renard and to Felix. The man was injured and his hands were balled into fists. She felt sorry for him touched his shoulder gently, “Can I take a look?”

He nodded jerkily, a quick movement that seemed to cost him and she moved behind the chair. As head guard, Felix was in great shape. He had looked like something straight out of GQ when he accompanied Belle at the gala and now sitting in the chair, shirtless, he looked like something out of a much more adult magazine. The muscles around his flat stomach bunched as he leaned over and made a quiet noise, Belle hadn’t even touched the wound yet, this couldn’t be good.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” She peered over her glasses at the hole in the man’s upper shoulder. A goopey line of blood had trailed down his back and was starting to solidify in small droplets on the floor. She pushed her glasses on top of her head and grabbed a cloth from the table.

“He was shot,” Renard said gruffly and gave no more explanation than that. Belle wasn’t sure if it was sarcasm but she gave him the look that the statement deserved, her lips thinned and her brows narrowed. She took the bottle of vodka from Felix’s hand and put the cloth over the top before tilting it. There was no telling where the first aid kit was and it would take longer to find it in the dark. She twisted the small knob on the oil lamp and brightened the flame as she looked at the wound. Sure enough, the bullet was still inside and was most likely the cause of his discomfort.

“I need tweezers,” she looked up at the men around her and Anderson handed her a pocket knife. A fairly large pocket knife at that. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Belle said quietly as she took it from him. He shrugged and Renard stayed quiet, neither one of them had anything better.

“Fine,” she said and flipped open the knife, holding it out away from her body and pouring the vodka over it. What didn’t land on the blade splattered to the floor and both Renard and Felix made strangled sounds of protest and acted like they wanted to stop her. Damn Russians. “You woke me up. I’ve been reading,” she pointed to the medical text on the table. “We do this my way.” Both men shut up.

Felix was still tall even sitting down and Belle stood behind his back so she could be just barely above eye level with the wound. She used her free hand to reach around the large man and take his hand gently. He couldn’t talk to her, so they would have to improvise.

“Felix, I need you to tell me if I hurt you,” she took his hand and pulled it to his side, laying it on her thigh. “Squeeze and I’ll stop okay?”

He nodded and adjusted his fingers on her leg as the other men watched with interest. She shook the excess vodka off of the blade and started to work. The largest piece of the slug was about half an inch under the skin and as she pressed the blade to it, his flesh wept fresh blood. It was shiny in the lamplight and the scarlet line fell down his back and onto the floor. Belle glanced down to make sure none got on her fluffy socks.

“Why have you been reading this?” Renard picked up the text and flipped through it. It was thick and most assuredly dull, nothing but procedure and definitions.

“Why not?” Belle said gently as she used the cloth to clean the blood out of her line of sight. She had had plenty of time as of late and figured it could come in handy-- little had she known she would be exactly right. “Can I ask again how this happened?”

“Simple mission,” Anderson started and looked to Renard before continuing. Surely they could tell Belle something without giving her too much inside knowledge. After all she was currently operating on one of their own. “Ran into a nasty crowd outside of Romania, quick firefight. Felix got clipped.”

Belle stopped what she was doing and looked at the man. How could he sound so calm about it? It that what happened once you had seen so much blood spill? How many more years with MI6 till she was the same way? She didn’t want to think about it and looked back down.

Renard opened and closed a few drawers and shoved things around before appearing at Belle’s side. With a small click, he illuminated a tiny pen light and held it out to her. “Here,” he said quietly and she looked at him. Her hands were full so she offered him her mouth. His own lip twitched as he placed the pen light between her lips; his fingers tasted of the vile vodka on the table.

“Pwer-fwect!” Belle said around the light as she pointed it at Felix’s back. She could see the small glob of lead and she went for it. As the blade connected with the slug Felix gripped her thigh and she stopped. More blood droplets fell and she let him catch his breath.

“Felix?” She said gently and he nodded slowly before loosening his grip. Renard picked up the vodka, Belle no longer needed it, and handed it to his guard. Felix gulped it like a dying man, Belle watched his throat contract as he swallowed and once he was occupied with the burn of the liquor, dug out the bullet in one swipe.

“Gwot it,” she smiled as she held it between to fingers. She plucked the light from her lips and tossed it on the counter. The bullet laid flat in her palm as Renard poured the booze over it to wash off the chunks of flesh. She gave it to him when he asked, god only knew what he wanted with it.

“Nicely done,” Anderson praised and raised an eyebrow smirking slightly. “Who knew you had a little soldier in ya?”

Belle took it as a compliment as she gently cleaned and bandaged Felix’s shoulder. “Take something for pain and rest this arm. Please. You don’t want to tear something on top of it.” She kissed two fingers and then pressed them to the bandage and smiled, proud of her handy work. The men around her continued to look at her like she had grown a second head but she didn’t let it ruin her moment.

Felix nodded and took a scrap of paper off the table and a pen from his pocket. After a handful of seconds he ripped the sheet off the notepad and handed it to her. In small, slanted script it said, ‘Thank you, Belle.’ She held it tightly and bit her lip as her heart ached a tiny bit; she hadn’t even known anyone in the entire mansion knew her first name.

“You’re very welcome,” she patted his shoulder, taking care to avoid the wound and carefully folding the piece of paper and placing it in her sweat pants pocket. “Go rest.” She turned and walked for the door, it was still early and she fully planed on going back upstairs and passing out for a few more hours.

“Ms. French-,” Renard said and walked across the room. She paused and allowed him to catch up. He scooped up the penlight, the same one that had been in her mouth, and waved it slightly, adding, “I’ll walk you.”

His tone needed work but she accepted and crossed her arms over her chest as they left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

“I appreciate your help. I need Felix at his best.” He said as they started the climb.

She shook her head, “It’s not a problem.” It was no secret the men in the house were not known for their tact. Even with steady hands, if any of them had attempted to remove the bullet, part of Felix’s shoulder could have come with it. They were quiet for a minute as they walked up to the second level. Renard used the penlight to aid their way.

“So, Romania?” She started.

“Leave it Ms. French,” he warned as they turned the corner.

That she deserved. It was none of her business and she had no right to ask. They walked side by side and she waited until she thought she was going to burst before blurting, “I’m sorry.” There was a pause. “About last night.”

He snarled and stayed quiet. She just couldn’t let it go, couldn’t leave it alone. Belle thought he would pretend she hadn’t spoke at all but he nodded in acceptance of her apology. They didn’t say anything the rest of the way to her room and Belle watched the light on the floor feeling miserable. He had thanked her for this morning, something Renard never did and she had ruined it.

“I-“  
“You-“

They both started at the same time and Belle flushed as Renard flinched back. “You first,” she said quietly and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Renard cleared his throat and opened his leather jacket a bit, fishing in the inner pocket before handing her a small brown parcel. The address labels had been ripped off, the same happened with all of her packages. But even without the stamps, Belle knew what it was.

“This came for you,” He handed it to her. “More books?” He raised an eyebrow and she wasn’t sure if he was curious or scolding her for her use of his credit card.

She nodded, “Yes.” Turning the package over in her hands she felt the need to apologize again. “It should be the last one I promise.”

He gave a grunt like he didn’t believe her and turned to go, fully intent on doing nothing more than dropping her off at the door.

“I think you might enjoy this one,” she said quickly and as he turned to face her she looked down at the package in her hands. In all honesty, she had bought it with him in mind. But now she felt foolish and didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to see him deny her request for company flat out. Which of course was what he should have done, and rightfully so after the disastrous first attempt.

“After I sleep a bit. Tonight- I mean if you’re not busy, you could-“ Her thoughts ran through her head in flustered clusters, like paint being flung on canvas with a purpose only to wind up on the floor. One big giant mess. She took a deep breath and just got to the point, “You could join me.”

He watched her fight for an intelligent sentence and he didn’t know if he should laugh or run as quickly and as far away from her as humanly possible. After his display last night she was prompting him again. She had to be insane. In the mind of Belle French there had to be a screw loose.

“Join you in what, Ms. French?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever read to you?” she asked gently. Her eyes widening as he looked at her blankly and made no effort to answer.

He was quiet for a long time, simply watching her and trying to figure out how to handle the situation. He ignored her ridiculous surprise; of course no one had ever read to him, it wasn’t exactly like he was a beloved pet, or a child. However, he was intrigued. She seemed so serious about such a mundane activity.

“Tonight. After you rest. 7:30?” he said flatly.

Her mouth fell open and she clutched the packaged book to her chest, nodding rapidly. “Yes. Yes, that’s perfect.” She bit her lip in an effort not to smile and hurried to her room, shutting the door before he had the chance to change his mind.

* * *

 

Sleep did not come as easily as she thought it would. Belle had sat on her bed and unwrapped the package. As the sun rose, her fingers had stroked the orange and tan book and turned it in her hands affectionately. She opened it and moved the stiff pages by flipping through them and allowing the new-book smell the fill her nostrils. Would Renard like it? She hoped so.

The clock on her bedside ticked by slowly. For hours she did silly things like organize her new clothes, arrange her rugs and a couple times she ventured down to the kitchen to grab a snack. As the sun rose, is was easier to move about the mansion, but she had to settle for dry cereal and other food that didn’t require electricity. She had managed about 30 minutes of rest, with the book clutched to her breast before she gave up and got dressed. She traded her sweat pants for jeans, the well fit denim felt nice against her skin after being buried under her frumpy clothes all morning. The bedside lamp still wouldn’t turn on, the generators must have been giving the men trouble.

The library was not dark but it was dim and Belle opened the curtains on the bay window so she had light at least for the moment. Hopefully Romanov fixed something soon; it wouldn’t be long before the fires in each room would not be enough to keep out the chill of the night. If the power was on, she would have worked in the code, been productive while she waited. But instead she was forced to twiddle her thumbs. She passed the time waiting for Renard with nothing but her own thoughts.

She sat by the window and watched it snow, simply thinking. Thinking about London, about Felix and his actions this morning and about Bond and Q. Hopefully the agency wasn’t spending a fortune trying to track her down; if only the two of them knew she was probably safer in this mansion than she had ever been in the field. The sun disappeared and Belle struck a match and lit the oil lamp on the mantle. What if Renard didn’t come? A tiny seed of doubt planted itself in the back of her mind and she couldn’t shake the feeling of foolishness. Had she really expected him to? She glanced at the small book by the lamp and sighed.

“Ms. French?”

Belle jumped and turned, heart thudding in her ears. “Could you please make noise or something?”

“I apologize.” He walked into the room and set down a bottle of bourbon and a stout glass, in his other hand he held a mug and passed it to her gently after making his way across the room. It was warm. Steam curled up from the brown surface and reached her nose in a wave of peppermint. He had brought her tea.

“T-thank you,” she said quietly and wrapped her hands around the mug. He sat on the couch and left her standing. She set it down and sat beside him. Renard looked at her but didn’t move away as he poured himself his own drink. “How’s Felix?”

“Resting,” he said, twisting the cap back on and taking a sip. “Like you ordered.”

“Like I asked,” she corrected. “You don’t always have to give orders for people to do what you want.”

He gave her the look that said she still didn’t understand his world and she returned it with on of her own. The amber colored liquid swirled around in his glass as he swallowed it in one gulp before pouring another.

“It’s a bit odd, don’t you think?” Belle asked as she pulled her feet up under her and laid her arm on the back of the couch watching him.

“Is what odd?” He still wouldn’t look at her, or sit back on the damn couch. It was like he was hyper-aware of her presence and at any moment would flee from the room.

“Felix is your first in command, you don’t rank that high by getting shot.”

She had a point. Felix was not careless. The mission was a simple pick up/drop off and there should not have been any foul ups. He hadn’t thought to ask what had gone wrong or if Felix knew who shot him, the poor man was on enough pain killers at the moment that he probably wouldn’t know anyway.

“What are you getting at?” He looked at her then. She gave him a look that said he knew and he sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. But I’m sure it’s nothing. Accidents happen Ms. French.”

She nodded. It was the best she could hope for. She was an agent, she knew these things happened but it also meant that she didn’t want to see Felix dead because no one took the time to ask what had gone wrong. She picked her tea up and sipped it gently.

“This is excellent,” she said, wishing she had better control over the surprise in her voice.

“You haven’t had tea until you’ve had it in India,” he said simply and finally sat back on the couch with his drink.

“You’ve been to India?”

“Of course,” he nodded once. He let his glass rest on the dark fabric of his jeans and watched her carefully. If all it took was a list of the places he had been to impress her then he was in good shape.

“Where else?” she said with interest.

“Pakistan, Iraq, Haiti,” he took a sip from his glass.

“All the romantic tourist areas then?” she joked, quoting Bond’s words as he handed her Renard’s file on her first day as a double oh. He nodded and she laughed. Her laugh was soft but rang clear and it caused his lip to twitch slightly. “One of these days you’ll have to go somewhere for the scenery.”

His face dropped a little and he handed her a throw pillow for her arm as he changed the subject, “What are we reading?”

“Oh!” she jumped up like she had just remembered. When she returned to her spot on the couch he couldn’t help but feel a little offended by the tiny book in her hands. Just because no one had ever read to him didn’t mean he was a stranger to the written word. He read. He snarled slightly at the book and gestured to it.

“Is that it?”

“Is that-,” she seemed taken aback and held the book like it could hear his disappointment. “Don’t scrunch up your face like that. This is a classic. You’ll love it.”

“And if I don’t?” he raised an eyebrow.

“You will.” she nodded confidently and waved away his suspicion. He highly doubted it but he would humor her. With the power out they couldn’t work on deciphering the code and if he wasn’t here with her then he would be filling in for Felix, freezing his ass off in the snow, making rounds with the men. He couldn’t feel it but that didn’t make it better. This measly book was worth staying indoors.

She took a drink of her tea before opening the book gently and holding it in her tiny lap. Before she began he interrupted once again.

“What should I do?”

“What do you mean?” she said curiously.

“I mean when someone does this,” he gestured between the two of them. “What should I do?”

She bit her lip as a small giggle threatened to escape her lips. “You don’t do anything Renard,” Belle put the pillow under her am and motioned to the book. “I’ll read and you just have to listen and relax.”

Renard wasn’t sure he knew how to do either of those. He was constantly the one giving orders and the other moments of the day he spent alone. Listening really wasn’t a requirement. And relaxing, forget that. The word was as non existent to him as his sense of touch. But he could try. Once he leaned his back on the couch and put his arm on the back, his hand almost behind her shoulder. If she realized the closeness then it didn’t seem to bother her.

She gave him an encouraging smile and reopened the book, “‘It was a pleasure to burn...’” Her voice was soft. Like her laugh, it was clear and the way she danced across the words on the page made them sound like they weren’t English at all but some sort of beautiful language that she had created on her own. Belle-ish. It was pleasing to one of the only senses he had left and he wanted to record it, lock it up and covet it.

He took another drink. What he should have done was chucked the glass and just used the bottle. If she didn’t stop doing that he would have to. He should leave; he shouldn’t be spending time with her. Not like this.

“...’and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history.’”

He hadn’t been listening and was certain he had missed the whole first page. Should he ask her to start over? He had one job in this activity and he was failing miserably. He had caught one sentence, the first one in fact, and the book was right about one thing. It would have been a pleasure to burn. To burn in the fires of Belle perhaps. He imagined blue flames, the color of her eyes, licking at his feet and slowly consuming him in something that was not revenge or capitol gain. Something pure. Something worth feeling.

“Renard?” He hadn’t heard her, she knew that. She had said his name twice and was receiving no response. Maybe he was about to seize again. Belle closed the book and kneeled in front of him on the couch. If he had another episode maybe she could keep him on the cushions, anything to make sure he didn’t hurt his head again.

He snapped out of it and realized she had her hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly. He stared at her small fingers grabbing his large arms and tried to mumble some kind of poor explanation.

“I wasn’t listening- I mean I want to. Don’t stop reading.” He looked at her then and tried to finish the conversation they had on the stairs before his malfunctioning brain betrayed him. He wanted her to keep reading but if he didn’t say a few things first he was never going to be able to pay attention. “You did well at the gala and with Felix.”

“So you’ve said-“

“You looked clean-“

“I looked clean?”

“You still do– fuck.“

“Are you alright?”

This was a disaster. He opened his mouth and it was like trying to breathe underwater, messy and pointless. And here he was drowning unable to shut up and stop the water from filling his lungs and dragging him down. But like she had proven time and time again, the woman kneeling in front of him was smart and she threw him a life preserver.

Keeping her hands on his shoulder, Belle leaned in and quickly kissed him on the lips, stopping his speech. It was meant as a thank you, a friendly expression that she appreciated his compliments, however jumbled they appeared to be. She pulled her head back quickly but kept her hands on his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He was no doubt going to shoot her for this. He could handle her arguing, her wit, but surely this had crossed the line. Renard scrambled to set his bourbon on the table and missed, the glass clanking on the floor. Fuck it. He captured Belle in his arms before she could hide behind her embarrassment.

She let out a small yelp as he pressed her against his chest and studied her face. Both eyes, even his slightly deformed one, roaming over her hesitating on the parts the fascinated him most.

“Renard?” she whispered and he shook his head.

“No-“

“Victor.” she said a little more firmly and he nodded. Nodded with such relief that he hadn’t ruined his chances of hearing her say it again. He crushed his lips to hers and she made a soft noise, relaxing against him and putting her hands back on his shoulders. Belle felt his hand in her hair and her eyes closed. His mouth against hers felt comfortable; a firm weight against her lips that in the dark gave her a much needed sense of security.

It was that moment that the power chose to come back on. The lights in the library flickered back to life and the flames in the lamps and hearth seemed very unnecessary. The computer issued a high pitched beep and the house filled with life once again.

Belle moved back slowly, their lips making a soft pop as they parted. She looked at Renard and blushed a darker shade of red. Her fingers played against the nape of his neck and she bit her lip. “I guess-I guess Romanov fixed it.” Her words were quiet but at least they filled the silence that had fallen between them.

Renard moved her off of him and stood slowly. He looked between her and the window and finally settled for rubbing his face with both hands before turning on his heel.

“You have to get out.”

“I-what?” Belle moved to the edge of the couch and looked at him with wide eyes. He was sending her to her room like a child and for what? There was no way she was letting him off that easily. She was just as startled by kissing him as he was her, probably more so. If she wasn’t running away then neither could he. She started to protest and he closed his eyes tightly, waving her away.

“No, I mean you have to leave.”

He was struggling for words again so she offered some assistance. “Leave the house?”

“Yes. Exactly. Leave. The power is on, you can see. Pack your things and get out.”

“But how am I-“

“I don’t care just get out!” He was breathing hard and willing her to understand his words and follow orders. But Belle was having none of his cowardice, not now.

“And where am I supposed to go?” she said calmly as she stood and crossed her arms. She nodded to the window. “Have you seen outside? It’s not exactly the ideal weather for a stroll.”

“Not my problem. Figure it out.” He walked to the door and she hurried to stand in front of him, blocking his path to the only exit in the room unless he wanted to jump three stories.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She said sternly.

“Oh yes you are.” He opened the drawer to the table beside the door and pulled out his walkie talkie. Holding the button down he called, “Anderson.”

There was a pause then, _“Go ahead Renard.”_

“Escort Ms. French from the building,” he snarled into the speaker and Belle let out a noise of outrage. How dare he.

She snatched the device from his hands and held the button, “Anderson, don’t you dare. Touch me at your own peril.” Renard watched her in astonishment. She had snatched the walkie talkie so quickly and now she was ordering his men about.

Belle held it tightly to her chest, knowing he wouldn’t try and manhandle it from her as it crackled back to life with a very confused Anderson on the other end.

_“Uhhh- okay. How about I just let the two of you handle it?”_

They both ignored the man inside the device and glared at one another. How could they go from kissing on the couch to this? Surely there was something Belle had missed. She continued to grip the radio and crossed her arms.

“If you want me to leave,” she started and took a breath so that her voice was not as harsh. “I will leave. But you will have to go warm up the helicopter because you will do what you promised and take me back to London yourself.” She would not be forced out into the snow like some sort of pet that he had grown tired of. If he wanted her gone then he would have to agree to the conditions.

Renard took a breath as well and clenched his fists at his sides. Belle could see him weighing his options in his mind and had she not been on the brink of eviction it would have made her laugh.

“Fine.” He said deeply.

“Fine?” Her eyes widened in shock.

He nodded and grabbed his coat off the back of the arm chair before joining her again by the door.

“What about the code?” She asked trying to think on her feet. The job was only halfway finished, he couldn’t take her back without getting what he wanted out of her.

“I’ll figure it out on my own.” His words were flat and he moved past her to open the door. He held it open and waited. It was her move and quite frankly she was at a loss on what to do. She walked to him slowly and looked up into his grey eyes. They were the color of a sky heavy with rain, the oncoming storm; she had been at the mercy of the storm and was in no hurry to do it again.

“What are you afraid of?” She blurted.

He wasn’t afraid of anything. He had killed hundreds; governments feared him, countries bowed before him. What was she talking about? Since he didn’t know how to answer her, he didn’t. He remained silent and stood, jacket gripped in his hand, waiting for her to agree so he could be rid of her for good.

“I’m not Elektra,” she said firmly. Renard’s hands fell to his side and his face relaxed a little.

“I know that,” he said quietly, almost inaudible.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure he did. She put her palm on the door and shut it. He watched it close before looking down as she took his jacket from his hands and tossed it to the floor.

“You would really take me back? Back home, to London. You’d release me?” Belle whispered as she stood almost flush against his chest, looking up and willing him to give her the truth.

“Yes.”

“Honest?” She said sternly and that tone was almost as persuasive to him as her ‘pleases’.

“Yes.”

That was all she needed to hear. The sincerity of that one word and she let him rip the walkie talkie from her hands and send it skipping across the floor. He used both hands to grip her sides, right underneath her arms and back her against the closed door, lifting her to balance on her toes as he captured her lips again. Belle wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kept her mouth closed, pressing her lips against his as tightly as he was holding her against the door.

He pulled back to breathe and whispered against her lips, “Ms-Ms. French...”

“No,” she said sharply. “Say it right.” Her breath was raised slightly and he imagined the warmth of it against his cheek. He shuddered at her request and his lips couldn’t comply fast enough.

“Belle,” he said. He kissed her again. “Belle. Be-”

“Yes-“ she uttered softly before he picked her up at the hips and pinned her firmly between the door and his body. She wasn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp...That just happened. See there was fluff and I didn't ruin it guys. No one had a seizure, no one got pissed and walked out. Aren't you proud? :')


	11. Be Careful Making Wishes In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see, you're the answer. Everything collides-- my childhood spat back out the monster that you see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Light 'Em up" - Fall Out Boy-- Sorry for the lyrics as Chapter titles guys but I have been finding so many awesome Renbelle songs and this was one song that brought on the idea for the ENTIRE fic. You owe FOB guys. haha Should I make a playlist? I think this might be in order. Enjoy the chapter you have all be waiting for. ;)

He was content to pin her against the door and attend to her mouth until she told him to stop. But she never did. His hands gripped the underside of her thighs and he bounced her up in adjustment when she started to slip. The movement caused her to rub against his hardness just below his jeans and he may not have felt it but Belle could.

She moaned softly and he ate the vibrations of the sound, pleased that he could sense them along the inside of his mouth. When Belle parted her lips and allowed him to taste her, he thought his heart would stop. It was the sweetness of her tea with a bite of peppermint to finish it off and Renard couldn’t get enough. He shoved her head back against the door and kissed her hard, all tongue and teeth and she pushed at his chest, heart beating too fast.

He made a small sound of defeat as they pulled apart. He had hurt her, pushed to hard, like a stallion rocketing from the gate and she was going to make him stop– make him leave.

“E-easy,” she breathed softly. Her small hand wrapped around the base of his neck and drew his forehead down to rest at her collar bone. She pressed her lips to his temple and kept him in place. He closed his eyes and nibbled the skin he could reach with extended lips. Gently this time, focusing on the clean way she tasted. The soap, the lotion, whatever she used in those bottles piled on her dresser, was intoxicating.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he grumbled against her neck and she nodded. With eyes cast downward he watched as his own fingers flicked open the top few buttons of her blouse. She grabbed his wrist and he looked at her.

“Over the shirt. Please?”

He nodded and placed his left hand over her right breast. The fabric balled beneath his fingers and he squeezed lightly, his mouth running dry at the way she wriggled between him and the door. Her breasts fascinated him and he wanted to rip the blouse to pieces, cover her in the most expensive liquor he had and take his time indulging in his strongest sense.

With the image so strong in his mind he forced his hand to move lower. Over her stomach and ending at the tops of her jeans. His index finger dipped between the waistband and her skin and she whimpered softly.

The radio on the floor a few feet from them crackled. “ _Renard?”_

“God dammit,” he growled and pulled away from her. The device was obviously broken from being thrown across the floor, but bits and pieces of the conversation on the channel was still able to come through. He turned it off with a firm flick of the power button and took the batteries out for good measure.

The library door locked and he saw Belle’s shadow on the floor by his feet. He looked down as her arms wrapped around the front of his chest and moved lower. Her hands pulled his shirt out of his jeans slowly and he bit his lip, forcing himself to be content with watching.

“This needs to come off,” she said against his back and he nodded, turning in her arms to comply. She raised the shirt as high as she could until he took over and pulled it over his head. Renard’s chest was broad, a wide expanse of pale muscle slightly marred by tiny scars. A knife wound here, a bullet wound there, all thin, pale reminders of the life he led. Belle couldn’t resist the urge to touch them.

He couldn’t feel her soft hands trace the pale, slightly bubbled markings but he watched as she did it with such gentleness that he didn’t deserve.

“So many,” she said quietly and he suddenly felt the need to apologize. He opened his mouth but his words were stolen as she kissed the largest scar on his right pectoral. She looked at him as she laved it with her tongue, making sure he was watching. He wouldn’t have looked away even if someone pointed a gun to his skull. “Did they hurt?”

“Once,” his hand slid along the curve of her head, along her hair. “A very long time ago.”

She bit her lip and continued where she had left off. Working from right to left, she found each tiny mark and either kissed it or touched it gently. “So you remember pain,” she started. Her hand ghosted over his nipple, down his stomach and hesitating lower. “Do you remember-- other things?”

When he didn’t answer she cupped the front of his jeans to validate her meaning. The visual of her licking his chest and now her hand on his crotch was enough to cause him to shudder.

“Oh yes,” he said breathy. His hand tightened in her hair and he pulled her neck back, making her look at him. “Yes I do M– _Belle_.” They shouldn’t be doing this. If reading with her was wrong then this was way over the line. With his hand holding her head towards him he continued, “Tell me to stop. And my offer still stands.”

Belle responded by moving her hand and undoing the button on his jeans while still looking at his face. The material gave and Renard let out a heavy breath that he hadn’t known he was holding.

“A-and what about this offer?” She moved the zipper down as she spoke and worked her hand between the denim and his boxers. “Does it still– _stand_?”

He gulped and nodded, pulling her to him again and kissing her hard. He gripped the back of her neck and closed his eyes tightly, speaking against her cheek. “Describe it, Belle. Everything. Don’t stop talking.”

Now that could be a problem. Normally talking was not an issue for Belle, she had been told she talked too much, but this? She hesitated again. She moved him around the arm of the couch and pushed his chest with one finger until he sat down. Her cheeks reddened as words depicting what her body was currently feeling crossed her mind, but she would try. He still expected her to refuse him, to hand him his shirt and go back to London. To do that now, she knew, could very well destroy him.

She slid her jeans off and stepped out of them, allowing him a few moments of gazing at her creamy skin and blue lacy underwear. He had bought them, he was allowed a quick peek.

“Everything?” she said as she straddled his lap slowly and put her hands on his chest. He nodded and she sunk down lower, her eyes fluttering as the rough material of his jeans made contact with her more sensitive parts through the lace. She pressed her cheek to his, feeling more confident if he couldn’t see her blushing, and whispered softly. “Your hands are cold but your chest is warm,” she took his hands and tucked them under her thighs trying to remedy the latter.

“What else?” he asked hoarsely, giving her a quick kiss close to her ear.

“Your fingers are rough. But in a strong, well worked way. I want them-“ she paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Touch me.”

He moved his hands over the swell of her thighs, one staying behind to grip her ass and keep her tightly pressed against him, while the other slipped between them and stroked her lightly through her panties. He watched his fingers, making sure he stroked slow and evenly. “A-are you–? Belle, tell me.”

She loved the way he said her name. The spice his faded accent gave the l’s pleased her as much as not being referred to so formally. She nodded and said quietly in his ear, “Wet? Yes, Victor, yes.” Belle leaned back and looked at him. She felt ridiculous; her humiliation apparent on her cheeks but he looked so eager, so hopeful. Her fingers played against the short stubble of his hair as she added, “D-dripping.”

His reaction was worth her fleeting shyness. His hips bucked against her at the added word and she whimpered. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to know everything. He wanted more. And she knew it. Knew from the way he gripped her that she had started something and now had to deliver.

“The jeans,” she made another noise and leaned up on her knees, trying to shove his pants down. “Its too much. The material is sharp. I need something smooth, something warm. Y-you.”

Pushing his shoulders against the couch, Renard raised his hips under her and between the two of them they managed to move the blasted jeans to his ankles and out of the way. She sat back down on him heavily and her mouth formed a small ‘O’ as she whimpered in surprise.

“Oh? What does that– is that good–“

”Hmm-hmm,” she nodded, closing her eyes and putting her arms back around his neck. She whispered in his ear, overcoming her shyness for his shared pleasure. “You’re hard, Victor. Very hard.”

He held her close then, wrapped large arms around her body and buried his face in her hair, thanking the powers that be the he didn’t disappoint her in that department. That despite his treacherous nerve endings, everything still seemed to be in working order. His hand found her core once again and he continued to stroke her. Gently petting till she moved her hips against him asking for more with her actions and wordless noises. He was content to watch her, watch her please herself with nothing more than the simple act but she however, was not content and if they weren’t careful he was going to bring her with nothing more than the pressure of his fingers.

She grabbed his wrist and forced him to stop, “Enough.”

His lip twitched in a small smirk. Without moving his wrist, his deft fingers pushed aside the material of the underwear and stroked along her folds without the extra layer. Every now and then he glanced to make sure he was doing it properly but he still managed to keep an eye on her face. He started with his hand deep underneath her, sliding his index along her tantalizingly slow until he brushed her clit with his knuckle.

“Victor!” she gasped and kissed him hard, showing him with her tongue what she wanted him to do with his fingers. He couldn’t have denied her for all of Russia. He used his middle finger and sank it inside of her firmly. As much as he enjoyed the vibrations of her kisses and her moans, he wished she would speak.

“Belle– please,” he groaned as he pressed his thumb against her swollen bud and curled his finger slightly.

“S-sorry,” She kept forgetting and closed her eyes tightly. “Gods, Victor. I’m so tight. Move your fingers please.” She needed some kind of relief from how tightly she was wound. Like a string pulled to tightly on an instrument, if he didn’t do something she was about to snap. He did as she asked and moved his finger in and out in small increments, slowly working her open. She had begun to sweat lightly and said through gritted teeth, “So–incredibly, tight. Is that just one finger?”

He nodded and watched her face, kissing along her jaw before whispering in her ear, “Think you can handle two?”

She whimpered again, a small helpless noise of compliance that said she didn’t care if she couldn’t handle it, she wanted it. He loved that noise, it fed his ego and allowed himself to give into the power while knowing she was enjoying it just as much. He gave her what she wanted, curling both fingers inside of her as she rocked her hips against him, begging for more and teaching him what pleased her.

“It’s almost too much,” she said as she bounced on his lap and gripped his shoulders like a life line. “So h-hot and wet– is this okay? Am I–“

“Perfect-“ he said quickly and willed her to continue as he scissored his fingers inside of her and she threw her head back.

“Victor if you don’t stop–I” she panted. She didn’t want him to stop. Wanted him to keep doing that forever, till his wrist gave out and then she would beg him for more. “So close, I’m so-“ It was too late. She couldn’t speak and he was perfectly okay to watch her fall apart in his arms as her body tensed and her nails dug into his bare skin. Belle wasn’t quiet about it, it was far too good to remain silent and he pounded his fingers against her, adding pressure to her folds with his palm as she rode against him shamelessly.

“That’s it,” he said deeply close to her ear, holding her tightly so she didn’t tumble off the couch in her ecstasy. “I got you.” He bit his lip hard enough that he most likely broke the skin, but he couldn’t tell. He saw small colored spots as he watched her orgasm before him and his vision grew blurry. At first he thought he might seize but breathed a sigh of relief as it passed and he knew what had happened.

She was making soft noises of pleasure and saying something that might have been his name mixed with her gratitude as she came down from her high. He slipped his fingers out of her gently and that small movement caused her to clench her thighs, trapping his hand momentarily.

With a tentative hand, he cupped her cheek, turned her to look at him. Once she did, he moved his hands to her hips and readjusted her on his lap. She shivered and helped him move his boxers out of their way to join the jeans on the floor.

“What?” she whispered as he stared at her hips quizzically.

“My pocket knife was in my jeans,” he said.

“What on earth do you need that for?” she gaped at him, putting her hands on his chest.

He shook his head and decided to improvise. “Hold still.” Curling his fingers into the side of her underwear, he gave a quick jerk and the dainty fabric snapped under his strength. Belle yelped again, the motion causing a pleasurable knot to form low in her abdomen as he did the other side. The shirt was removed much easier, but he still ripped it from her like it had given him an unforgivable grievance.

“I-I could have just stood up,” she said as he discarded the useless bit of lace and lowered her hips. “Those were cute–“

“I’ll buy you more.” He shook his head and leaned up to kiss her as he raised his hips and slipped inside of her. Belle opened her mouth and gave a short moan against his lips. It was like her sounds where cut into pieces, chopped apart with every short thrust that stole her air and forced her to start the noise all over again.

“N-not as tight– but still so good. Oh Victor.” she threw her head back and gripped his shoulders. He traded the sporadic thrusts for long, slow ones; gripping her hips and moving inside of her until he reached her end, as if apologizing for the rough start.

Belle didn’t think he had anything to apologize for; the slowness was nice and she appreciated the effort, but it was not needed. “Harder– “ she breathed and was stopped as he gave into her request before the sentence was complete. His thrust was deep enough Belle could feel an ache within her chest and her mouth opened, frozen in a whimper that she didn’t have the strength to voice.

Her noises and expressions were enough. He didn’t need her words to tell him what she was experiencing. She dug her nails into the leather of the couch and hunched her back so she could look down. The sight of him pushing himself inside of her as he found a rough rhythm to suit them both was enough to bring her to the brink.

He buried his face against the swell of her left breast and growled, “Come for me Belle, one more time. Let me see it.”

She shook her head and bit her lip as she rocked against him. “I can’t–“ A dull burn had started deep within her, foreboding certain soreness in the morning and the thought was keeping her from going over the edge once more. However, Renard was not a man who liked to be told ‘no’. With an angle of his hips and one final thrust, he brought her again. He ate the cry from her lips as she clenched her thighs around him desperately and clawed at his chest. Greedily, he watched her orgasm in his embrace and his blurry vision returned along with the spots. The world slowed and he let out a sigh, kissing her gently. What a sight. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Would it be selfish to pin her to the floor and make her do it again?

Belle laid her head on his shoulder, chest heaving and allowed him to hold her close as she relearned the dynamics of taking in oxygen. “T-thank you,” she said.

Renard couldn’t help the snicker that escaped his lips as he looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “You’re thanking me?”

“Seemed like the right thing to do,” she smiled lazily and shrugged. She was quiet for a moment before jerking upright and looking at him worriedly. “You– I couldn’t stop. You didn’t– you didn’t come?”

He couldn’t help his small smile, the short upturn of his lips as her words sank in. This beautiful woman had been the first to touch him in years, allowed him to witness that marvelous display of pleasure and now she was worried he hadn’t enjoyed himself? He kissed her gently, a quick brush of lips before nodding. “I did. Don’t worry. It’s just not as,” he gestured to her vaguely. “Explosive as you were.”

“Oh,” She blushed and looked down, eyes landing on his crotch before looking quickly back up and blushing harder. He wasn’t done making her blush quite just yet. With steady hands, he raised his fingers and sucked them both inside his mouth. He savored the taste of her and wanted to wrap himself in the light scent as she buried her face in his throat with embarrassment.

“It’s all I have, would you rather me not taste you because you’re shy?” he said quietly.

There was a pause. She looked up at him slowly and brushed her fingers across his cheek, “You really can’t feel anything can you? Anything at all.”

He shook his head and took her hand away from his cheek, watching as her fingers curled around his and held onto him tightly. “Vibrations sometimes, but it’s rare,” he said, still holding her hand and giving a small gesture to his ear. “Of course, I can hear normally but smell is fading. Taste– well, taste is all that’s truly left.”

“So, should I get some cake flavored vodka, pour it on myself and let you have fun?” she laughed softly, wanting to wipe the haunted look from his face. Only part of her was joking. That part faded away as he looked at her with wide eyes.

“They make that?” he asked quietly. He was torn between the idea of such a product being utterly ridiculous, why would they ruin good vodka? And the image of a naked Belle on his bed covered in the stuff.

She had to bite her lip to keep the truly mischievous smirk from forming on her face as she held out her hand, “Give me your credit card.”

* * *

 

Belle woke up in a tangle of sheets and the chirping of birds outside her window. The blizzard had passed and the electric had stayed on the entire night. The clock on her bedside table still blinked however and said something ridiculous like 11 PM. She hadn’t had time to set the clock, and the morning light coming in from her windows let her know it wasn’t even close to being right. Belle groaned and raised up on her arms, holding the sheet to her chest. Except for her, the bed was empty.

“Victor?” she said quietly.

No response. She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Last night she had slept like a rock. They had chose to spend the night in her room, since it was on the same floor as the library, and asking him to stay only solidified her point that she was not like the women he was accustomed to. With Victor wrapped around her she had been blissfully warm and, once she drifted off, she had been dead to the world. She would have preferred to wake up in the same way, but apparently he had other plans.

She found her sweat pants and what she assumed as her t-shirt, though when she pulled it over her head she realized it was Renard’s. She left it and went to find her fuzzy socks. As she sat on the bed and braided her hair loosely, the walkie talkie caught her eye.

Scooping it up, she held down the button, “Vi– Renard.” She had a feeling her use of his real name was something he wanted behind closed doors, something to be shared just between them. The radio crackled and silence remained. She sighed and got up, leaving her room and heading down the inordinate amount of stairs. She had wanted to be lazy today. To leave his team of perfectly capable thugs to take care of business while she had their employer to herself. Did he not want that as well? Her stomach fell at the thought that somewhere along the way, she had misread him.  
  
She checked the den, the garage and was on her way through the grand hall to check the kitchen when she nearly collided with Romanov.

“Oh– “ she started quietly, unable to hide her disappointment that he wasn’t who she was looking for. “G-good morning.”

“Looking for Renard?” he raised an eyebrow and adjusted his rifle on his shoulders. His hair was shorter than it had been the other day. The blonde strands now cut close to his head, giving a better view of his sharp face. It made him look older, more stern and Belle couldn’t help that out of all of Renard’s men, Romanov was her least favorite.

“Yes, I– “

“He went out.” he said flatly.

“Out?” Belle paused, slightly taken aback. He left her. What was so important that he couldn’t have left a note? Romanov nodded but didn’t volunteer any extra information. He watched her and dared her to press him for more, so he could deny her flat out and revel in the fact that even he outranked her.

“Thank you,” she said and walked past him toward the kitchen. At least she could stop her quest across the mansion.

“You fucked him didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?” She turned around a little too quickly, eyes wide and he smirked, taking her defensiveness as an answer to his question.

“Don’t worry. It’s not the first time this has happened.” He chuckled deeply and shrugged.

“That’s none of your business.” she said quietly and cursed her cheeks, which were no doubt getting redder by the second. Odds were he wouldn’t be so cocky if the man in question was here, but to Romanov, Belle was easy prey. He wasn’t worth the threat of her telling Renard, she could handle it, one night did not allow her to cower behind him for protection. She turned back around and headed for the kitchen.

“You know you look a bit like her,” he called and she walked faster. Away from his hurtful words and didn’t stop till she was out of sight. In the dim kitchen she pressed her back to the fridge and put a hand over her mouth. His words resonated in her ears, made her throat tight and her eyes burn. The more she fought it, the worse it became. It embarrassed her to think the entire house knew about her and Renard, but that wasn’t the worst part. Anderson and Felix would no doubt kill anyone who ridiculed her for her actions. And men gossiped too; they most likely assumed she had been intimate from day-one with their boss.

No, what caused her breath to shake and her heart to pound was Romanov’s parting statement. She didn’t look a thing like Elektra. Did she? If she even resembled the horrid woman, Renard wouldn’t have touched her. Or was that his only reason for doing so? Did she remind him enough of the woman that he had loved and lost that he could close his eyes and pretend it was Elektra instead of her?

She suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore and thought about going back upstairs. She could occupy herself with the code or read one of her new books, but she ran the risk of running into Romanov. Anderson and Felix were probably at Renard’s side, wherever that might be. She wished he would have left one of them behind instead.

The door to the hall opened with a bang and Belle jumped. She heard voices and was relieved to hear Renard’s among them. She glanced at the clock above the stove, it was still before noon. Romanov wasn’t anywhere to be found as she left the kitchen and walked into the large room.

She opened her mouth and closed it quickly as she laid eyes on Renard. He was dirty; leather jacket covered in a fine layer of brown dust, black soot was just above his eye and across his brow, giving him the appearance of being singed. What stopped her in her tracks was his white shirt, speckled with blood; dried, fresh, his, someone else’s, it brought a small sound from her throat and he turned on the spot.

“Belle,” he said quietly and the name gave the men around him pause, but no one dared to question it. He made sure the safety was on before he tossed his rifle to the ground and went to her. She flinched back and he looked down at himself and had the decency to look embarrassed. He shied away from her, not wanting to get her dirty. He lowered his voice, not having the privacy he would have liked, “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Where were you?” she asked gently, trying to keep her voice from accusing him of something she didn’t have proof of yet.

He straightened his shoulders, closed off whatever he was thinking by giving her a stern look that after last night, made her chest tight. “I was– out.”

“So I’ve been told,” she glared at him, his words reminding her of Romanov earlier. The sound of another gun hitting the floor, brought her attention to the door as Felix walked in and leaned heavily against the wall. His black hair was a dull, dark grey color, covered with dirt and hung in his eyes as he bit his lip. “Why is he up?”

“I needed him–“

“He’s hurt!” She had pulled the bullet out only yesterday, and couldn’t fathom the amount of pain Felix was in right now. “He should be upstairs, resting–“

“Do you pay his salary? I don’t think so.” he snarled. She wanted to scream at him, slap him maybe. Anything so make him cut the self righteous, high-ranking bull shit.

Anderson moved to help Felix, putting the taller man’s arm over his shoulder and giving the two of them an confused look. “I’ll leave the two of you to it then?”

“No, stay–“ Renard barked at the same time Belle said, “Thank you, go–“

Anderson ignored them both, taking Felix into the den. Renard looked around, making sure they were alone before he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, going up the stairs. Belle followed, at least this was a step up from being dragged everywhere. His hand in hers was new but Belle didn’t say anything as they walked and arrived in the corridor on the second floor that led to her room.

He dropped her hand and looked her over. His arms moved up like he wanted to touch her but he dropped them to his sides, seeing the annoyance still written on her face. What he would have liked to do was grab her and kiss her again, he hoped he was still allowed and that she hadn’t woken up to better senses.

“What was the plan Victor? Leave so early that you got back before I woke up and I would be none the wiser?”

“No, I–“

“What did you do?” she said in a softer tone, glancing to his bloody shirt.

“Nothing—“

“Victor, tell me– “

He snarled and grabbed her by the arms. “Look– “ She didn’t look scared but he kept his firm hold on her still, when every bone in his body wanted to shake her. “Don’t assume after last night, that I have to tell you everything.”

It was cold. And it hurt. Belle flinched back and ripped her arms from his grip, feeling like she did after Romanov’s ridicule this morning. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t form words around the tight burning of her throat.

“Don’t forget who I am,” he said and continued to look at her with a dark intensity. The look on her face made him want to take it back, to climb back into bed and forget this morning had ever happened. But she had to know, she had to show him that she understood the viper that she was trying to charm out of it’s basket.

“Trust me,” she choked out. “I won’t.” She turned from him and he tried to follow but she slammed the door in his face once she was inside her room.

He flinched back from the loud slam and rubbed his hand over his head, growling. He kicked the wall, “Fuck!” This was not how he had planned for the day to go. What did he do now? He walked away from the door then stopped and walked back to it. Doing this multiple times before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He probably looked like an idiot, practicing lamaze in the hallway, but if he didn’t give himself pause, he was more likely to say something else he would regret. After a few moments, he flipped off the radio at his hip and walked back to her door.

“Belle.” he said and knocked once, leaning his forehead on the wood.

“Go away,“ she said and he felt his heart sink a little. He thought about running. It was tempting.

There was a pause before he closed his eyes and added quietly, “I’m sorry.”

She made him wait for what felt like an eternity. With his forehead pressed to the wood of her door, he knew he deserved to wait longer. He heard her footsteps along the wood floor and leaned away from the door in hopes that if she opened it he wouldn’t tumble inside and land in a clump at her feet. She opened it and looked up at him, with watery eyes.

“What did you say?” she asked softly.

He hung his head and let out a breath before leaning on the door frame and looking at her, “Don’t make me say it again.”

Belle bit her lip and waited. With a man like Renard, apologizing once was plenty, if she could just get that damned temper under control. She nodded and turned around, walking back into the room and allowing him to follow.

He shut the door and stared after her as she walked into the giant bathroom connected to her suite. The light flipped on but she left the door open, clearly wanting him in there as well. With a sigh, he tossed his jacket on the footboard of the bed and followed her.

She ran warm water out of the sink and pointed to the edge of the tub. “Sit,” she added gently as she looked in the cabinets. “And give me your shirt.”

“Is this a ploy to get me undressed?” He couldn’t help it. She had set herself up for that and he desperately wanted her in a better mood.

She bit her lip to keep her smile at bay and shook her head. “No. If I don’t soak it, you’ll never get the blood out.” With a cork from the shelf, she stopped up the sink and filled it with warm water. She used a wash cloth and rang it out before going to him at the edge of the tub. Sitting down, his eyes were practically level with her breasts. He looked up as she touched the warm cloth to the blood above his eye.  
“What time did you leave me last night?” she asked quietly. The blood washed off easily and there was just skin underneath; the blood was not his own and she felt both relieved and horrified.

“About 3AM,” he put his hands on her waist, watching her as she re-dipped the cloth and got to work on the soot under his jaw. He idly ran his fingers down her thighs, up and down, just touching. Her shoulders relaxed a little. “I can do this myself, you know.”

“I know. Would you rather I leave?” When he shook his head ‘no’ she continued. “I Though so. Besides, you’re coming back to bed and you’re not getting in my clean sheets being filthy like this.”

“Its’s 10:30,” he said quietly.

“So?” Belle raised an eyebrow and wiped a trace of blood from his upper chest. He looked down at his feet but she could tell he was smiling. She walked to the sink and dropped his shirt in, pushing it under the warm water to soak.

He stayed seated and leaned one elbow on his knee, rubbing his eyes. The only sound in the room was the sound of her hands in the water of the sink.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he mumbled, looking at his feet as his head rested in the palm of his hand.

Belle stopped and turned around. “What?”

“This morning,” he looked up as she walked back over to him. “I didn’t kill anyone.” She wouldn’t ask; he knew that, but he wanted her to know. As much as he didn’t want to leave her this morning, he still had a job to do. Still had people that depended on him, no matter what had changed between him and Belle.

Belle wiped her damp hands on her sweats and cupped his cheeks gently as she kissed his forehead. There is no telling what he was out doing with Anderson and the others this morning but the fact that no one died was a start.

 

They wound up back in bed as Belle had wanted. Renard in nothing but a clean pair of jeans at her request of not wanting to have to wash the sheets, and Belle curled up against his side. He leaned against the headboard as she stroked lazy patterns on his chest and he stared transfixed. His fingers stroked her shoulder and came to a pause after a few minutes.

“Is this my shirt?”

She blushed lightly. “Yes. Sorry, I just put it on when I went to look for you this morning.”

“It’s fine,” he resumed his movements on her arm. He was quiet for a few moments as he leaned his head back against the headboard and looked at the ceiling. “And I suppose I can take Felix off  
duty for the next few days.” He looked back down at her as she raised her head and smiled slightly, “You’re very demanding you know th–“

She leaned up and kissed him, stopping his words. He closed his eyes and focused on the taste of her mouth, the freshness of her toothpaste and the other senses that were simply Belle.

“Thank you,” she said against his lips and he nodded, rolling her onto her back with him on top. He kissed her, slowly, filling her up with his tongue and lips. He sucked and licked and resisted the urge to use his teeth as she held him close and let him devour her. This would be the way he desired to wake up in the morning and he mentally vowed to not disappoint her tomorrow.

He moved down her body and brought the edges of her sweats with him. His fingers moved the shirt up, baring her stomach and he averted his kisses to the flesh there instead. She squirmed as he sucked the skin beside her navel, pulling it tight between his teeth until there was a red mark. She made soft noises and he smirked, proud of the tiny mark and wanting to leave them other places.

“Victor,” she said quietly, closing her eyes and stroking her fingers over his short hair. He pulled her sweats down lower and kissed her low enough that her hips jerked, a small involuntary movement that brushed his nose against the front of her underwear and she blushed.

His radio on her bedside table lit up and Anderson came over the speaker. _“Renard?”_

“Fuck me,” Renard growled against the front of Belle and she whimpered softly as his voice vibrated against her core.

“Could you– turn it off?” she said quietly, as if they could hear her on the other end. He shook his head and reached over and grabbed the device, if it was Anderson, odds were it was important.

“Go ahead, Anderson,” Renard said. He laid the radio on the bed and waited for the response. While he waited however, he went back to what he was doing before. With one swipe, he pulled off Belle’s pajama bottoms and chucked them on the floor. She looked at him with wide eyes and clenched her legs together, shaking her head ‘no’. He paused but when she didn’t fight him, he concluded her protests were not because she didn’t want what he was offering.

_“Are you busy?”_

  
“Not at the moment,” He said into the device as he worked a hand between her thighs and settled his chest between them on the bed once she complied. Belle watched him and gripped the pillow as he bit her inner thigh. He used one hand to mound the sensitive flesh up ever so slightly and put as much of it into his mouth as he could, biting almost too hard. She yelped and put a hand over her own mouth as the radio came back.

_“Where are you?”_

He picked it up and held the button, “Upstairs. Get on with it, Anderson.” He had tossed one of Belle’s legs over his shoulder, spreading her before him as he planned on the best way to go about this. He released the button so Belle was free to let out a shuddering moan as he licked her through her knickers. A quick tease of what he intended to do to her in the next few minutes. She frantically tried to help him remove the fabric, not wanting to lose another pair to his impatience.

“Victor– stop– “ she said half heartedly as he hooked his fingers in the edge of her underwear and jerked each side down with his only free hand.

_“You might want to replace Romanov on rounds tonight.”_

“And why is that?” His mouth was like a flame against her, so hot, so firm; she put her hand on the back of his head to hold him in place without thinking about it. He put his hand on the underside of her thigh as he gave her the first solid lick and she mewled, arching her back and closing her eyes tightly. With steady fingers, he touched along her folds and found her clit, diving back and nudging it firmly with his nose as he sucked her.

Belle almost came off the bed, yelling his name at the same time Anderson came over the radio, _“Felix just broke Romanov’s nose.”_ For a long time Renard did not answer. He grabbed Belle by the hips and jerked her to his face, tasting her for real this time, directly from the core. It was wonderful and he must have been doing something right because she was making a mess of the sheets and pillows and she knocked them from the bed in an attempt to grab something solid.

_“Renard?”_

Renard cursed loudly inside of her and left her panting on the bed. He stopped her torment and sat back on his knees, saying loudly into the radio, “He did what? Why?” Belle shivered and couldn’t help the disappointment low in her belly at the loss of his affections between her thighs.

_“You want to get down here and find out? Apparently it’s about Ms. French.”_

He wiped his lips on the nearby sheet, unable to focus with the taste of her fresh in his mouth. Renard looked at her with confusion and said into the radio, “Hold on Anderson.” He raised an eyebrow; from the look on her face he knew she wanted to say something. “Belle?”

She bit her lip and sat up, wringing her fingers in her lap and saying quietly. “This morning, when you were gone, Romanov said some things.”

“What kind of things?” His voice dropped an octave and no matter how much she disliked Romanov, she was suddenly very worried for him.

She retold the events of her confrontation with his man, changing the more colorful words to something that didn’t leave her mouth feeling sullied. She kept the part about her possible resemblance to Elektra to herself, but what she told him was enough. Renard listened and stood once she was done with the first part. She had seen that look in his eyes before and was certain he was going to kill the younger man.

“Wait–“ she said quickly and scrambled to the foot of the bed, grabbing his arm. “You don’t have to do this. He’s not worth it.” He pulled his arm from her and she grabbed it again. “Stay with me,” she paused and whispered, “Please.” He looked at her. Studied her face and stayed standing by the foot of her bed. It went against his better judgement, he wanted nothing more than to go downstairs and take a swing at him for himself, but he didn’t try to pull away from her again.

He brought the radio to his lips and held the button, “Anderson.”

_“I’m here.”_

He sighed and closed his eyes as Belle leaned over the footboard and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Put Petros in Romanov’s place on the rounds tonight. I’ll handle whatever it is later.” He opened his eyes to see Belle plant a kiss on his cheek. “And Anderson, don’t let the bastard bleed all over my fucking house.”

_“Copy that Renard.”_

As far as the team knew, he and Belle were working on the code. If he ran too quickly to beat the man to a pulp for a handful of insults, it might cause the others to talk. Romanov was not worth his time when he had a half naked Belle in his arms. The radio fell silent and he tossed it on the

arm chair in the corner, not wanting to have to replace another one from being thrown across the room. His face softened and Belle smiled, the small doubts in the back of her mind being pushed aside as he climbed over the baseboard and back onto the bed.

“Is that what you wanted?” he teased and she nodded.

“Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Good. Now where was I?” he said and tackled her backwards onto the bed. As she bounced on the mattress, she let out a laugh. That sound was music to his ears and he decided everything else could fucking wait.


	12. Dark and Slithering Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...there is no summary for this. Too much happens and I can't give anything away. Enjoy and comment. ;)

 

There were four tanks along the concrete walls in the damp, dark basement. They bubbled quietly, with a never ending hum, much like a child’s fish tank only not half as comforting. The only light was the eerie, greenish glow coming from the fluorescent bulbs directly above the glass enclosures. Heels clicked against the stone floor and bright light filled the small space as the light bulb dangling from the ceiling was turned on.

The man tied to the wooden chair winced back from the light and once his eyes adjusted, stared up at his captor.

“Did they hurt you?” she fawned over him, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I told them to be gentle. Men,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “They never listen.”

Her red nails ripped the duct tape from his mouth and his head turned with the force of the adhesive pulling at his lips. She was insane and he remained silent as he moved his wrists against the rope at his back. He was a military man and this woman scared the piss out of him. With her pouting lips and chocolate eyes she was a siren displaying her body on the rocks, bringing sailors to their doom.

“You may speak,” she purred and leaned down to pick up a well groomed house cat that was twining around her feet. It hissed at him and she stroked it lovingly, its orange and leopard features a good match for the color of her dress and skin.

“I don’t have anything to say,” he glared at her. His mouth was dry and it was hard to say even those few words; she had kept him down here in the dark for days.

She dropped the cat to the floor and it landed gracefully, going over to one of the larger tanks. It stood up on its hind legs, paws against the glass, and watched mesmerized by the eels swimming back and forth in the green water.

“Do you know who I am?” she purred.

“Crazy?” he retorted and she slapped him hard before grabbing his jaw in her claws and snarling in his face.

“I am Elektra King and you will show me respect,” She leaned in and looked him over in disgust. “I’ve killed men like you. Hundreds.” He stayed quiet and she released him roughly. Her long dress sashayed against the stone and she stopped in front of the eel-filled tank, playing her nails along the glass and waking up the slithering creatures.

She stared blankly into the water, a green glow cast on her sharp face. “Delicate things,” she whispered, reaching her hand in and letting an eel brush against her palm. “So beautiful, but so dependant on those that hold them captive.”

She pulled her hand from the water and picked up a large tin can from the small table at her side. The eels flipped their tails and twisted around each other in excitement, bubbling the water and coming closer to the surface with the hopes of food. She tilted the can and it was not any sort of food.

“You train them to trust you. And it’s so easy to betray that trust.” Black sludge poured from the can and directly into the tank. It looked and smelled like some sort of crude oil and it slowly spread through the water in a black inky cloud, writhe with rainbow colored lines in the more dense areas. The eels twisted and flopped as their gills filled with the foul liquid and she watched. Watched as her pets withered and died.

Unable to take it anymore he choked out quietly, “What do you want?” He had stooped to her level and gave into her little sexual-scary display of power and he hated himself for it.

She wiped her hands on a nearby cloth and walked back over to him. “There is only one thing I hate in this world. Truly hate. And that is when people take what is mine.” She hiked up the slit in her dress, baring most of her thigh as she straddled his waist and put her hands around his neck loosely.

“My father stole from my mother, so I killed him. MI6 stole from me–“

“I haven’t stolen anything from you.” He leaned back from her as far as he could but it did little good.

“You’re right. You’re right. You haven’t, I know,” She stroked his cheek again. “But she did.” Elektra leaned her head back and bit her lip, drawing forth fake tears to sit on the brim of her eyes as she told her tale. “He was mine. He was perfect. And she ruined him. Took him from my arms and he left me. Left me to rot in that hole in the middle of London!” Her tone rose with every sentence and her chest heaved with her newfound rapid breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about–“ he pleaded and she put her hand over his mouth firmly.

“But you do! You do! You just haven’t been listening!” She yelled and her face contorted into a rage that scrunched her features and made her ugly. He flinched back from her tone and she laughed. With a shake of her hair, the anger faded and she was beautiful once again, like a hawk settling its feathers. Like two sides of a coin her actions stabbed him only to stroke him and he decided silence was his best bet at getting out of here with all of his organs on the right side of his skin.

“You’re a smart man. But I’ll make it easy for you,” she smiled, excitement at her own plan filling her as she gripped his cheeks and kept a firm hold on his mouth. She adjusted herself on his lap and leaned in, whispering softly in his ear, “You’re going to help me kill your daughter.”

* * *

 

Her fist collided with his face and he fell back on the mat, flat on his ass, with a hard thump. Belle put her hand over her mouth with a loud gasp and went to her knees beside Renard.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! You said to hit you–“

He chuckled and pulled his hand away from his nose, he couldn’t feel it, they both knew that but she was still apologizing. “No, no that was good,” he tilted his head back and allowed her to look. “Is it bleeding?”

She shook her head. A few days had passed since their romp in the library and a lot had changed. They worked on the disk but it had taken a back seat to other things. Once she convinced him to relax, he seemed to enjoy being read to and they had made it through the entire book and even started a new one. He slept in her room, perfectly content to leave his to collect dust on the third floor; that was fine with her.

This morning she had wanted to go for a run, something to clear her head, and he had suggested they do this instead.

“Go again,” he said as he got to his feet and she followed suit. Belle was an agent, she knew a great deal about hand to hand combat. Even remembered how proud she was the first time she put Bond flat on his ass in the same way. But Renard didn’t know any of that and she allowed him to think he was teaching her something. He seemed to think he owed her in return for their nightly reading time and now regular sex, but he had a hard time thinking of anything to give that did not involve violence.

“Come at me.” He held his hands up slightly and motioned her forward with a few flicks of his fingers. Belle tightened her ponytail and did as he asked. He dodged her right hook and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around and pinning her arm behind her. He applied pressure to her elbow and leaned over her shoulder, “Nice try.”

“You’re enjoying this more than you should,” she glared at him as she tried to wriggle free and he tightened his grip.

“You’re right. I am.” He let go of her elbow and transferred his grip to her ponytail, pulling her head back and stretching her neck tight. Belle reached back and grabbed him by the pockets of his track pants. He was hot to the touch and slightly hard as he pressed himself against her ass.

She tilted her head up and reached her arm back to cup his cheek. “Kiss me.”

“I’m sweaty.” he rumbled but still leaned forward.

“So am I,” she said quietly as his mouth closed around hers. He released her ponytail and wrapped his arms around her front. The drawstring of her sweats gave easily under his grip and he slipped his hand down the front of her pants.

“Victor–no, not here.” she said as her body betrayed her words by bucking forward to rub against his hand. They were on the first floor and the odds of being discovered increased tenfold.

He gave her another quick peck and removed his hand from her gently. She was right, like always, but he should have kept going. If anyone walked through the door, he’d simply shoot them. “Temptress,” he growled in her ear. He walked away and scooped his water bottle off the floor, taking a large gulp before handing it off to Belle.

The door opened and Anderson walked in, dressed as usual: standard dark-blue windbreaker over black jeans and military grade shoulder holster. “Morning Ms. French,” he nodded and Belle lifted her head in response, her cheeks bulging with a mouthful of water.

“She kick your ass?” he chuckled at Renard.

“She tried,” Renard said, his chest slightly puffed as he gave Belle a knowing wink.

Belle swallowed and gave them both a stern look. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing right here. Besides,” she grabbed a hand towel and dabbed at her sweat. “He cheated.” The three of them shared a quiet laugh as Anderson walked further into the room.

“I need you to look over a few things, Renard. Approve the actions against Shanghai.” He crossed his arms and stood casually.

“Shanghai? God dammit.” Renard groaned and rubbed his eyes. “This is the last time we deal in the east.”

“I told you that the last time we went through this.” Anderson looked at Belle and gestured to Renard before rolling his eyes. Belle didn’t have a clue what they were talking about but they had started doing this quite often. Having business conversations, however cryptic, right in front of her like it was something they always did. She did know something about Shanghai though, apparently when he left her to wake up alone that was who he had been dealing it. The head of a crime syndicate had used Renard’s services and then tried to pay him in cocaine instead of cash.

“What the fuck was I supposed to do with 50 kilos?” he had told Belle as they were lying in bed one night discussing the incident. “Do you have any idea how much that is?” She shook her head. Of course she didn’t have any idea.

“Around seven million American dollars,” he said as he leaned his head back and rubbed his temples. Seven million. So that was what the gun trade paid these days. Belle controlled her curiosity in order to voice her more important question.

“So you hit him till he coughed up the money?” she asked. He nodded; well that explained his bloody shirt.

“Basically.” He continued when she glared at him, “He’ll be fine. Christ, woman.”

Belle smiled briefly and shook her head as the memory played out. It wasn’t until Renard touched her arm that she realized he had been speaking to her.

“Belle?” She looked up and he continued. “We’re working on the code tonight, correct?”

“Yes,” she nodded. They had spent almost all of last night reading. Tonight, as she had promised, would be devoted to joining their efforts and cracking the disk. He hesitated, looking at her and biting his lip. He quickly, and a bit clumsily, pressed his lips to her temple and gave her upper arm and light squeeze. She blushed as he released her and he walked from the room, grabbing a towel on his way out. Anderson remained, and like a dutiful employee, he pretended not to notice his boss’s personal moment.

“I’ll bring him back quickly, Ms. French.” Anderson said.

“Anderson, call me Belle. We’ve talked about this,” she said gently with a smile and he returned it. His usual habit of calling her ‘duck’ had slipped in the last few days and she let him see with her eyes that she kind of missed it. He adjusted his shoulder holster and winced deeply bringing Belle’s attention to his arm. She stopped and grabbed his wrist as she noticed angry scars on his hand. “What happened to your hand?”

He tensed and moved himself from her grip gently. The marks looked like they hurt. Fresh and pink in the middle with dark red towards the ends where new skin was ready to grow once the old part fell off and died.

“Burned it. Helping Romanov fix the generators the other day. It’s nothing really.” He held it close to him and shook his head. “You can’t possibly take care of all of us. I’ll be fine.” He chuckled and walked to the door, leaving her behind. She bit her lip and felt slightly ashamed. She knew they could take care of themselves, they did it for years without her but things were different.

“Anderson? If you see him,” She called and he stopped and turned in the doorway. “Tell Felix I said thank you. For– well, you know.”

“I can assure you he was happy to do it, Duck.” he laughed.

“But still– tell him, please.”

“Of course.”

He closed the door behind him and Belle was left alone. She plopped down on the sparring mat with a sigh and stretched, bending in half and grabbing her toes as she worked her hamstrings. Her stomach had twisted itself into a tiny knot and it was getting worse every hour. She had to tell him. Had to tell them all that she wasn’t Q, that she was really agent 009. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. In the last few days she had tried numerous times, it just hadn’t worked out. She was lying to the men; she was lying to Renard, who had never done anything but remind her time and time again exactly who and what he was.

She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted a shower– a cold shower. Something to get rid of the sweat and possibly cool off her heated libido. The last was essential if they wanted to get anything done on cracking the code. Part of her hoped that he would forget about the entire plan, it was ridiculous and doomed to fail. She didn’t want him to burn with it anymore than he probably did. But he was like a man obsessed.

She stretched her arm over her chest and let out a pleasurable sigh as her shoulder issued a small pop. Her ponytail was in desperate need of fixing after Renard’s abuse of it earlier and she pulled it down as she climbed the stairs. She stopped by the library and grabbed the laptop, along with their current novel just in case. Renard would have the disk, perhaps she could talk him into working on it in the comfort of her room. After the gym this morning, her limbs felt like rubber.

The laptop opened easily and she clacked away, entering the password that brought up the main screen. It sat on the bed and updated as she went to the sink and washed her face. She tossed her tank top on the floor, leaning closer to the mirror in her sports bra and poked at her cheeks. The washcloth slid along her skin, under her eyes and she sighed quietly. Nearly a month in this frozen wasteland and she still looked the same. Her blue eyes were still crisp and bright and her flesh remained healthy and pink. Unable to keep it bottled up, she had asked Renard flat out if she resembled his scorned lover and he had shot down the theory quicker than she ever could have hoped for. She looked like Belle; no one else. But she didn’t feel like Belle, at least not completely.

Her door opened and closed. Renard was back. Anderson had promised to be quick about it. She tossed the cloth over the porcelain edge and back into her room; now was the perfect time. “Victor, I have to tell you–“

She came up short. He was leaning back against the baseboard of the bed, arms crossed, looking at his feet in thought, something tightly clutched in his hand. He didn’t look up, didn’t say anything but he had to know she was there.

“Victor?”

“Please tell me you have the disk,” he said towards the floor.

“What?” Belle walked forward, suddenly wishing she had more clothes on. He was in one of his moods and they always managed to make her feel exposed. “No, I brought the laptop. I thought we–“

He tossed what he was clutching at her feet and the small plastic case cracked on the hard floor. It was empty.

“Where’s the disk?” she asked gently, not sure if she should pick up the case or leave it in favor of not taking her eyes off of Renard and his growing rage.

“Good question,” he growled. He turned away from her and put his hands on the footboard, hunching his back a bit and hanging his head.   
A sinking thought crossed her mind and she went to him, hand poised over his shoulder but not touching just yet. “I didn’t– I wouldn’t take–“

“I know,” he barked before saying it again more gently. “I know you didn’t.”

The tension in her neck bled out as he shared in her knowledge that she had nothing to do with the missing disk. What could she possibly gain by taking it? And why would she wait till now? She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked at it before he continued.

“Someone– before you even got here, I’ve had my suspicions.” The laptop issued a quiet hush of air and he closed it firmly. It was pointless to have it sit there and run if they had nothing to use if for. “In this house,” he gestured, making a small circle in front of him. “In my operations, I have a mole.”

Her eyes widened as he shared the information. “But who–“

“No idea,” he shook his head. “I liked to believe none of them were stupid enough to double cross me. They know the price if I ever found out.”

Belle couldn’t think of anyone who would have the gall to steal from an employer like Renard. She knew what happened to those that fouled up on the tiniest of details. She had witnessed it her third day here when he shot a man for leaving her in the dungeon-like wing against his orders. Did the men assume his threat was no longer valid because she was in his bed? For a fleeting moment she thought that this could be her fault, but he had said it started before she arrived. She was glad for that fact; she didn’t want to go back to sleeping alone in her giant blue bed.

“Maybe we could ask around– snoop a bit–“

“No.” he said sternly. He didn’t want whoever it was to know he was onto them and he especially didn’t want to involve Belle by having her snoop around without knowing the danger they could be in.

She leaned over the footboard a bit so she could look at him better. “My moneys on Romanov,” she said quietly, a joking smile lingering in her tone.

He laughed, a short humph that caused his jaw to relax and his face to look years younger. Romanov was too thick to betray someone as smart as Renard effectively. But he nodded in agreement. “I hope it is,” he looked at her. “Then I can kill him.”

It was a miracle the man had lived this long. Just as his broken nose was beginning to set, Renard had caught him and couldn’t seem to stop himself from breaking the man’s jaw. He was off guard duty until it healed and anything that required the movement of his mouth caused him extreme pain. Renard was pleased with his own handy work, it ‘didn’t allow him to say anything else idiotic’ he had told Belle as he confessed to his actions when she caught him washing the blood from his knuckles. She didn’t condone his rage, didn’t praise him for it, but she didn’t scold him either. Some lessons had to be taught the hard way; she made the exception in the case of Romanov.  
  
“What are we going to do?” she said and crossed her arms loosely.

“We?” He raised an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. She hated when he did that, but the fault was not his own. She’d be suspicious too of anyone that showed her compassion after years of living in dark solitude. But however justified, she wished he would quit suspecting she was going to plunge a knife in his back at the drop of a hat.

He reached up, tucked a curl behind her ear for her and only now seemed to notice she was half naked before him, having never quite made it to her desired shower. His eyes shamelessly followed the curve of her throat and over her small breasts, lingering long enough that she wanted to cover herself on instinct. He looked back at her face and without warning, his eyes grew cold. The rumbling grey clouds filled his irises and his hand dropped away from her hair.

“Why didn’t you let me take you back?” he said quietly.

Victor, don’t–“

“No. Answer me. Why did you stay?” It was not a request, it was a command. He willed her to tell him the truth, to tell him something other than what she had been for the last few days. But she had been telling him the truth. She stayed because she wanted to.

“Because without me– without me you could lose what’s left of your humanity.” Without her, Renard didn’t stand a chance. She knew it. He knew it. If Belle left he would continue down his path of mayhem and it would kill him.

“So it’s pity then?” he growled.

“No! It’s not that. I stayed because– “ She tried to touch him and he pushed her hand down. “Because I wanted to.”

“Don’t lie. That’s impossible.”

“It’s not a lie. Why is it impossible?” She fought to keep her tone understanding. It would get them no where if she started yelling. Out of the two of them, she was the least stubborn, but not by much.

“Because no one would want me– that,” he flourished his hand outward, almost gesturing to himself, but Belle had caught it. “That. No one would want that.”

He moved to the bay window and leaned his arm against the glass, staring out onto the snow covered balcony. The sun had been out for two days now and the very top layers of the drifts had begun to take on a watery texture. Spring was coming but in mountains such as these it only meant less snow.

Belle waited, stood at the end of the bed and watched him breathe. A small intake followed by a larger one, all accompanied by silence. He was calming himself, quelling his own temper. For her. It was something Belle never expected to see when she first laid eyes on the man that took her from MI6. But damn him if he didn’t keep surprising her. She stood behind him, closer, but still allowing him room to breathe.

“When will you stop telling me what I want?”

He pressed his forehead to the glass and closed his eyes, “When you stop making the wrong choices.”   
  
He wasn’t a wrong choice. Perhaps to an outsider he was not the best choice but that certainly didn’t make him wrong. He fogged the area of glass closest to him and wiped it away, one line at a time, with his index finger.

“I’m not a good man, Belle.” he said, trying to sound indifferent by continuing to play with the condensation. “There are things that I have to do, things I have done, and you make me feel guilty for them.”

That had not been her intent. Surely if she stayed, she didn’t want to live this life forever but that was far away and only he seemed adamant on bringing it up now. However, he was right; he was not a good man. All of his life he had been a bad man. A bad man with good qualities. Or perhaps he was a good man but a tad bit misguided. Either way, Renard was not black and white but as grey as his captivating eyes.

She went to him then, after the silence had settled and he went back to his breathing. She showed him her hand so he would know she was wrapping her arms around him tightly from behind. He looked down, his gut sinking at the sight of her small arms wrapped around his middle and wishing more than anything he could feel it when she laid her cheek against his back.

“You are a good man, Victor. I’ve seen it,” she said quietly as she squeezed him tightly, taking in the smell of his aftershave and sweat. “You’ve just made all the wrong choices.”

He put his arms over hers, “I’m good at what I do. Destruction, arms dealing, murder.” She winced at the last one but they both ignored it. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

She made him turn around slowly, placed both hands on his chest. “It’s never too late to learn.”

He opened his mouth and all that came out was a short, quiet wheeze. A harsh release of breath before he crumpled at her feet like a puppet and someone had cut his strings. Belle jumped back a step so he didn’t take her down with him and watched helplessly as he seized.

“Victor!” she yelled and dropped to her knees beside him. “D-damn it–“

Taking a deep breath, she gently moved him to his side, his body fighting her every step of the way. His muscles rigid and uncooperative. She could do this, had to do this. There was no sense in calling for help, the men would just stand and watch because that’s all that could be done until the process was complete. All she could do was protect his head and let him finish.

His palm was on one of her rugs and his hand convulsed, gripping it tightly as his back arched slightly. The whites of his eyes shuddered and his mouth was slightly open, frozen as if he had been trying to speak. Short noises escaped his lips as his throat locked.

“Breathe, Victor. Breathe.” Belle said sternly. He couldn’t hear her but she willed him to obey “Breathe.”

His mouth closed and he released a heavy, shuddering breath so forcefully through his nose it made her chest hurt to hear it. After that she placed her index finger below his nostrils and took comfort in the steady streams of air that she could feel against her skin.

“Good. Good. I got you.” she said quietly as he continued to jerk and she moved to protect his head. She grabbed the afghan off the arm chair and balled it up, sliding it under his skull and stroked his cheek. Small whimpers came in between each breath and her heart ached to make it stop, make his pain go away, she hated the lingering since of helplessness. It was like he was trying to speak and the noises eventually gave up and became his body’s way of releasing pain as his nervous system betrayed him. With another release of air, he stopped. His eyes closed peacefully and his hand released his death grip on her rug.

“Victor?” she said firmly. “Can you hear me?” She stroked his arm and spoke low to his ear. “Nod, come on, show me you can hear me.”

She checked his pulse, it was steady and her eyes burned with relief as she laid her forehead on his shoulder. She held his hand and watched the rise and fall of his chest. “You have to stop this. Okay?” He didn’t respond, still lost to unconsciousness. “Please,” she added in a whisper, knowing what the word did to him.

“Okay– fine.” he whispered back, his eyes still closed. He had no idea what he was promising; he only knew he had heard the ‘please’ at the end and he jumped to give her anything she wanted. He stayed still, allowing the blackness behind his eyelids to stop swimming before he even thought about opening them. He was on the floor, he knew that much. Great.

“Victor!” she said as she threw herself over him. He gave a grunt as he rolled onto his back and caught her as best he could. She kissed his cheek, his nose, even his drooping eye.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I–“ He paused and his eyes shot open. He looked at her, wide eyed and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her head up so she could look at him. His breath came too fast, his chest heaving from panic and excitement as she returned his look with one of confusion.

“What– what is it?” she breathed. Was he hurt? Surely he wouldn’t seize again this quickly.

“Your lips are warm,” he said quietly.

“Well yes, they usually–“

They both stopped. She realized he wasn’t asking about her lips, he was telling her about her lips. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“You can feel me?” They both paused and the only sound in the big, blue room was their heavy breath. “You can feel me!”  
  
He captured her hand and brought it to his cheek, allowing the soft pads of her fingers to slide down his jaw, over the slight stubble on his skin. He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath as he nodded, answering her question before pulling her to him and kissing her hard. It was clumsy, filled with too much tongue and salvia as he tried to sense too many things at once. He breathed her in like he might die and she put her hands on the sides of his face to reign him in. She wordlessly told him to slow down and once he did, the kiss was better than he could have hoped for.

He felt everything. The tiny ripples on the more plump part of her lips, the fleshy part of the inside of her mouth, the ridges on the roof of her just behind her teeth. He kissed her like he was going to eat her from the inside out and she finally had to shove him back, pull away or she was going to faint from lack of oxygen.

She panted beside him as he sat up and drug her onto his lap, burying his face in the bend of her throat. He felt her wrap her arms around his neck and play her fingers in his buzzed hair, a touch so gentle, his throat tightened and he didn’t know how he had lived without feeling it these last few days. He clung to her tightly and finally managed to choke out, “B-Belle–“

“I know. I know,” she breathed and she shut her eyes tightly, holding back her tears of joy for his new found sense.

He kept his face against her skin, in the shadow of her hair, as he reached up to touch the very curls themselves. They were soft under his calloused hands and he twirled them and grabbed them, flipped them and threaded them through his fingers gently. He smiled and spoke against her neck, “You’re heavier than I thought you’d be.”

She laughed, loud and all at once as a couple tears spilled over from the movement. She slapped his chest as he teased her.

“Ow,” he laughed and put a hand over where she hit him.

“Get used to it,” she smiled as she leaned down and captured his lips again. He could feel her. For the first time in years he could touch something and know its warmth, texture and weight. And he couldn’t think of a better thing to explore first than the woman curled in his lap.


	13. Bloody Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite the aggro of my furied heart, I'll wait, on mountaintops in Russia. Hands together, forgive him before hes dead.

 

The tiny man in the tiny lab coat with the tiny glasses was a gigantic idiot. And Renard was quite certain he had never wanted to punch a man so hard before in his entire life. Well, perhaps Romanov. Was the lab coat even necessary? He highly doubted it. He sat on one of the wooden chairs by the breakfast table and Belle was perched at his side on the arm of it. Her fingers played gently at the base of his neck, right above the collar of his tight black shirt. She had started by simply tucking in the tag and her fingers had just never left; he was not about to complain.

“Victor?”

She had been speaking to him and he hadn’t even know it. With his feeling returned, her fingers at the back of his neck was the most erotic thing he had ever known and yet so sweet it made his chest tight with feelings he didn’t know he still had. He could feel the curve of her hip against his arm; the smooth material of her jeans with the promise of the skin underneath, was almost too much. She should never wear clothes in his presence, ever. He would hide them. Yes, he would hide all of her clothes.

“What? Sorry. Yes–,” he said quietly as he looked up from his lap and to the woman perched on the arm of his chair.

The doctor standing by the cabinets across from them let out a nervous laugh and Renard felt his hand moving to the butt of his gun. The idiot was laughing at him. After their encounters before, the doctor should have known who he was dealing with. Renard had threatened him with death in months past and the man seemed to think he was bluffing.

“Think something is funny?” The doctor froze and shook his head rapidly as Renard addressed him. “Don’t think her being by my side makes you any safer.” He growled as the small man blanched and looked to the gun at Renard’s hip.

“Victor!” Belle whispered harshly and dug her nails slightly into the nape of his neck. The motion sent shivers down his spine and he placed his hand on her thigh. He wouldn’t apologize for wanting to strangle the other man with his stupid lab coat. He could think about it just as long as he didn’t do it.

“He’s sorry,” she said flatly and nodded for the doctor to continue. “What did you find?”

After his seizure, Belle thought it was a good idea to call in the doctor that normally did his brain scans. To Renard it was a horrible idea. He not only loathed the man but what did they need more x-rays for? His sense of feeling was back and he wanted to spend his time using it, not questioning it.

The little man adjusted his glasses and turned on the light above the kitchen sink. He did his best to hold the x-ray to the light and look over his shoulder to speak to Belle at the same time.

“W-well, your sense of touch is back correct?” he wobbled out. Renard stroked his gun and closed his eyes counting to ten slowly. Belle reached down and grabbed his hand away from his weapon.

She held it firmly in her lap, entwining their fingers and nodding to the man. “Yes, it came back a few hours before you arrived. After the seizure we told you about. But how?”

Renard gripped her hand and focused on the wood of the table, the tiny patterns the oak made in all different shades of brown. He didn’t want to see the x-rays. He didn’t want Belle to see them either, but she had insisted.

“Well, with the addition of the seizures,” he seemed more composed if he focused on Belle and her questions rather than the terrorist. “The bullet has moved again.”

Renard stiffened and the doctor glanced at him before continuing.

“See this?” He pointed to what appeared to be a small grey blob among a sea of small grey blobs and Belle leaned a little closer. “This controls the majority of your sense of touch. The bullet was pinching this area; blocking off nerve sensors going in and out of the brain. My guess is, the bullet moved and you regained your sense.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Brain damage is permanent but sometimes nerve damage is not. You are a special case,” He handed Belle one x-ray and picked up another. “I don’t see any damage to either lobe or any cortex.”

“And that’s good?” Belle examined the flimsy film in her hands and felt the knot in her chest loosen a bit.

The doctor nodded. “I can’t promise the seizures will stop. You might have them for the rest of your life. For now the sense of touch is back and I suspect it’s back for good. You could experience some dullness, the sense fading in and out at first but it should remain.”

Belle laid the x-ray on the table and looked at Renard, a smile on her face that fell when he wouldn’t look at her. He stared at the floor and didn’t raise his head even as she took his hand again.

“If there is one thing we’ve learned,” the doctor continued. “The bullet is still moving. It needs to come out because once it hits–“

“Enough.” Renard said suddenly and the others in the room jumped slightly.

“Victor–,“ Belle said, barely audible.

“I said, enough.” He released her hand and got up, glaring at the doctor. “Get out.”

The man hurried to comply as he gathered his x-rays, stethoscope and other items in a clumsy bundle. Belle watched him leave and looked to Renard before hurrying after the other man. He was fast. Obviously scared to death in the giant mansion and Belle almost had to sprint to catch him the middle of the grand hall. Panting, she grabbed his arm and he froze. Relief written on his face when he realized it was her.

“H-how long?” she asked.

He looked at her first with confusion and then with pity that made Belle sick at her stomach.

“A few months ago I would have said a year,” he lowered his voice and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “But the bullet is moving faster than I anticipated. To be honest,” he paused. “I don’t know.”

She released the doctor and watched him walk out of the mansion. Luckily the table at the bottom of the grand staircase was there and she gripped it tightly to keep from falling to her knees. Hot tears burned at her eyes and throat and she swallowed them hard.

That was the worst answer Belle could have imagined. A time limit– sure– fine, she could freak out then find a way to plan– to lay it all out and cope. But this was nothing. To know that at any moment, in the library, in her bed, she could be holding Renard and that would be it. Game over. Or worse, he could be away, out destroying the hierarchy one politician at a time and the most she could hope for was that Felix would be able to bring her back a body.

She jumped as a crash came from the other room, the loud sound of something heavy being tossed into the basin of the sink. For a moment she feared a seizure but then she heard his string of curses and she walked calmly back into the kitchen.

“Victor?” she said quietly as he tossed a glass onto the counter and dropped ice inside of it.

He opened the cabinets and shut them in almost a rhythmic sort of chaos. “Fuck. Have you seen– dammit where is–“

Belle wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and he froze for a moment. As he opened the last cabinet his hand closed around the liquor bottle he was looking for and he set it on the counter quietly. Belle laid her forehead against the side of his chest as he lifted his arm and put it around her.

“Is that what you wanted?” he said softly and she tensed beside him. “All that man ever seems to give me is bad news.”

“We had to know.”

He shook his head. He didn’t have to know anything. For the last few years he had lived this nightmare, with the shadow of death hanging over him and he was tired. Tired of waiting. After the submarine debacle with MI6 he had waited and wished the bullet would just get it over with. As he looked down at Belle he knew he didn’t want to think that way anymore. He should have been more careful with his wishes.

He felt a warm droplet through the thin material of his shirt and he looked down. All he could see was the top of her head, the brown curls reflecting the morning sun through the kitchen window. But as he felt another drop he pulled her from his side to stand in front of him and made her look up.

“Stop,” he said sternly. With the pad of his thumb he wiped the tear from her cheek. “No more. The x-rays do not change anything. Understand?” She nodded and he continued. He had to say something. Anything to stop the dismal thoughts in both of their heads. With a breath, he added softly, “Right in this moment, I’m just as alive as you are.”

Though modified, he gave her words back to her and she looked at him. He wasn’t going to lie down and wait for the clock to strike midnight. How could she even for a second think that he would? They would finish the job he had taken her for. They would find the mole, decode the disk and anything else– bullet or no bullet.  

“You’re right,” she said quietly and touched his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her palm and she smiled, knowing he could feel her. The doctor had left a couple of the grey scale pieces of film on the counter and Renard stacked them before tossing them in the trash. He nodded once and looked back to her gently.

He trailed his finger along her jaw, down her neck and finally stopping at her collarbone. “Could we–?“ The sentence remained unfinished and Belle blushed. He was being polite in asking but he was obviously eager to explore his new sense.

His finger dipped down the front of her shirt, just barely, to ghost along the valley of her breasts. The skin was warm there and smooth and his jeans started to stretch tight with the thought alone.

“Upstairs?” she said. He nodded but didn’t move. Feeling along the counter, his fingers closed around his scotch glass. He plucked a piece of ice from it and looked like he was thinking entirely too hard about something. She watched as he lowered the ice to her chest and she grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No. You are not putting that on me.” she laughed softly.

His face fell and he raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” Had he done something wrong already? God, he hoped not.

“Because it is freezing in this house and that,” she nodded to the cube in his hand. “Is not coming anywhere near these.” She made an arbitrary motion in front of her chest and smiled a little. Not wanting him to think she was saying ‘no’ to any of his other ideas. She was always cold in the house when she wasn’t pressed against Renard or next to the fireplace. The thought of that ice on her naked skin was silly and made her want to put clothes on instead of take them off.

“I’m not a penguin,” she said, hoping the jest would soften her refusal. He nodded but still looked disappointed and dropped the ice back in the glass.

“Come with me,” Belle took his hand and pulled him behind her gently. She had a much better idea and had a feeling he wouldn’t be disappointed much longer.

They made it to her room and he managed to lock the door as she continued to drag him gently, not stopping until they made it to her large in-suite bathroom. As she released him to flip on the knobs in the glass shower, he locked that door as well for good measure. She came back to him and kissed him gently. It was a silent promise that, for now, they could forget about this morning, forget about the bullet, the x-rays and the time bomb that was his nervous system.

Renard closed his eyes. Before they always remained open, trying to see the kiss that he couldn’t feel. But now, he closed them and focused on the pressure of her mouth, the feel of her tongue as it bumped against his gently and the vibration of a contented moan that escaped his throat.

“B-Belle–“ he groaned as she pulled away and he leaned forward, desperately trying to reclaim her.

She put a hand on his chest, stopping him and tugged lightly at the hem of his v-neck. “Off.”

Her commanding tone did things to him and he hurried to obey, tossing the material to the floor. As his hands went to his belt she stopped him again. He made another small noise of protest that he would deny outside of this bedroom. Was she trying to kill him?

“Let me,” she said quietly as she leaned in to kiss along his neck. He tilted his head back against the mirror and closed his eyes once she closed her teeth around a sensitive spot on his throat and sucked. He felt her mouth, hot against his skin. Felt his flesh slip between her lips and pinch between her teeth as she created a suction that he hoped left marks. Let the men see, right now, he didn’t care; not if it meant he got to look in the mirror and remember what she was doing to him.

She pulled her mouth away and blew cool air against the now hot, wet spot and the sensation was enough to have him gripping the faucet on the sink and almost ripping it from the porcelain. Her cool breath sent shivers down his spine, across his chest and straight to his groin as she worked her way down and did something similar to his nipple. He cried out, and concluded she was trying to kill him.

“Belle!” he said and opened his eyes as she went to her knees in front of him.

“Too much?” She undid his belt, tossing the leather to the floor with a small clink. As she undid the button on his jeans, she licked her lips and he knew what she was thinking. He grabbed her by the hair, heart pounding as he made her stop. The image of Belle possibly wrapping her lips around his cock almost brought him, and his pants weren’t even off yet.

“Not that–“ he fought for words and she actually looked disappointed.

“But I thought–“

“Later. Later. Yes–“ he nodded and groaned at the realization of what he was turning down. As much as he wanted it, he wanted something else more. She rose to her feet slowly and he loosened his grip on her hair. “J-just let me– let me be inside you. I just want to feel you– please. Now.” He hadn’t thought of anything else all morning and if he didn’t fuck her soon he was going to go mad.

“Yes,” was all she said as she nodded quickly and undid his jeans, jerking the zipper down with no extra caresses, to give him some much needed relief. He had her in nothing but her bra and underwear in record time, as her clothes were tossed carelessly to the pile already on the floor. He set to work on the clasp at her back and she spoke while he fumbled. “They did match, you know. But _someone_ has a temper when it comes to–“

She squeaked as he claimed her mouth, shutting her up. He chuckled against her lips; she was never going to let that time in the library go. The bra gave as he succeeded in his battle of the ridiculous metal hooks and he walked her back to the shower.

The water was hot by the time they shed the remaining clothes. Belle’s back slapped the wall under the stream of water as the glass door shut and Renard pounced. He cradled her head, protecting it from the wall as he explored her mouth, tasting Belle along with the warm water. She moaned and he quickly blinked the droplets from his vision in order to see her squirm against him. He kissed down her neck, moving his hands to her breasts to kneed and slip against them. As she arched against him he realized how painfully hard he was and knew they would have plenty of time to explore later.

“Belle,” he said through gritted teeth against her neck and she nodded, accepting his impatience.

“Okay– okay. How do you want–“

“Turn around first.”

She turned in his arms, pressing her palms to the glass wall of the shower. Belle was not just a quick shag, he never thought of her as that, he would at least try his hand at foreplay; although, he couldn’t remember if he was even any good. He brushed her wet hair over her shoulder and ran his fingers along the dip in the middle of her back. Leaning forward, he ran his tongue alone the same spot, making small circles up her spine. So much pale flesh at his fingertips, smooth, soft, warm. He wanted to touch and lick and bite her until she begged him to stop and even then, he couldn’t promise he would.

His palm ran along the swell of her hips, down her thigh and finally traveled back up to cup her ass. Belle leaned her head on her forearm and pushed back against him like a cat, rubbing greedily until his cock hit the place she wanted. She could only imagine what he was battling, he didn’t need to keep control, not the first time at least.

“Belle,” he said with warning. He grabbed her hips to force her to be still and she looked at him over her shoulder, her lips pouting like he’d taken away her favorite toy. “I’m not going to last,” he admitted quietly. Her smoothness pressed to his groin was too much, he couldn’t see past his own desires and was worried she would be less than satisfied afterwards. It had been far too long.

“Victor,” she purred quietly and he whipped her back around to face him. He had wanted to take his time, make her pant and paw him as he covered her in soap and possessed her. But his body had other plans and so did she. His fingers slipped along her folds and she shuddered.

“Ready?” When she nodded he bent slightly and scooped her up. He locked his wrists at the base of her back and pressed her against the glass as her arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

“I’m not too heavy?” she said as he looked down to line himself up.

He shook his head, “You’re perfect.” She kissed him as he slipped inside of her, barely passed the tip, and it drew a cry from her lips. She was so tight; tighter than he ever imagined every other time he had been inside her. How on earth had he never hurt her? Unable to feel how hard he thrust against her, he had relied on her to tell him ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’. She never complained. Most likely too nice to criticize his technique; and he felt miserable at the thought of how poorly he had made love to her before. The thought slowed him, allowed him to press her against the wall and slowly grind his hips until he was sheathed completely inside her.

“Am I– am I hurting you? I can’t–“ he tried as his hips bucked a bit, urging him to press on. He bit his lip hard enough to hurt; he couldn’t do this– after years of feeling nothing, to feeling something like this– he was bound to snap her in half if he gave in and listened to his body.

She put her hands on the sides of his face, making him stop biting his lip by drawing it out from between his teeth with her thumb gently.

“I won’t break. This time, just do what feels good.” She wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, “F-fuck me.”

He groaned and thrust hard without another word. To hear something like that come from her perfect lips almost sent him over the edge; he wanted to hear it again. Belle held onto him with her thighs as she clenched her inner walls around his cock and leaned her head back on the wall of the shower. He shoved her back against the glass, making her rise and fall with each movement and it brought small sounds from her mouth each time.

His senses were on fire. The cold of the glass bricks against his hands, the warm water pouring between them, the scalding flame that was the woman crying his name at his front. He had to focus on his rhythm inside of her or he would explode from sensory overload. She had been right– this was a much better idea than the ice cubes.  

It wasn’t long before his knees wobbled and he waited for her to look down before pressing their foreheads together. “Belle–“ he said through gritted teeth as his thrusts became sporadic and he was grinding her into the wall hard enough he was sure there would be an imprint of her back in the glass.

“I know. I know,” she said quickly and nodded. She wasn’t close but this time it wasn’t about her. Her fingers played at the back of his neck and she breathed, “Come, Victor. Do it. Let me see you.”

He did. Just as she asked, he orgasmed and spilled between her legs in a release so forceful it was on the edge of painful. Every nerve ending sparked in a pyrotechnic display of everything he had repressed since being shot and he couldn’t hold the both of them up while the sensation racked his body. With a cry of his own, he fell to his knees with a loud thud on the shower floor and Belle winced for him. He would be bruised come morning.

“Thank you. Thank you–,” he choked out as his eyes burned and his throat became tight. He buried his face against her shoulder and held her, not wanting to move from this spot for the rest of his life.

“How was it?” she said as she kissed his cheek, jaw and neck, hooking her ankles at the base of his spine.

He stayed quiet, unable to begin to fathom how to describe something so wonderful. If it existed, he had found heaven and it was inside Belle. With his face pressed to her collar bone, he closed his eyes, letting the water pour over his back. Her fingers played at the base of his neck, something he hoped was becoming a habit, and the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“Stay with me.” 

Her fingers stilled and she ducked her head slightly, making him look up. Her eye brows moved in slight confusion as she touched his cheek. “I’m right here.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said quietly.

Belle stayed quiet. Her stomach tightened into a knotted bundle and she didn’t have a clue on how to answer him. She couldn’t stay forever– could she? It wasn’t like she could abandon MI6 and join him in his life of anarchy. She had a life of queen and country, a life her father would have been proud of had he still been alive. She had no place in Renard’s world, regardless on if she wanted one or not.

Her silence worried him and he hurried to fill the gap.

“Belle, I l-“

She put her hand over his lips and shook her head gently. She knew that look, knew that tone and whatever was about to spill from his mouth was not something either of them could afford to hear. What he was feeling was almost a decade of repressed endorphins and hormones. She was the first sex, first human touch of any kind he could feel in years and he wouldn’t mean it once he came down from his high– she was sure of it.

She kissed him gently, keeping her mouth closed and holding him close. He cared about her, she was certain– but that was it– nothing more.

As they pulled apart, he didn’t say anything else. The water was switched off and their limbs untangled. He watched her as she used one of the fluffy white towels to dry all of her flawless skin. Was she avoiding looking at him?

She overlapped the cloth and tucked it around her breasts before smiling at him gently and pulling him too her. He gave a small sigh of relief and pressed her to his chest. The soft towel tickling his skin and made him smile as well.

“Come on,” she grabbed his hand and tossed him a towel. “I’m not done with you.”

He dried quickly and hurried the few feet from the bath room to the bed. It was cold in Belle’s room, neither one of them wanting to take the time to make a fire, and Renard ripped the towel from her and tumbled her into the sheets before the warmth of the shower could leave her skin.

She pushed him onto his back and shimmied down to the foot of the bed, careful to keep the blanket around her as much as possible and still allow him to see her. She started at the very bottom—with his feet. Slowly running her nails over his toes and his ankles.

“Belle—what are you--?”

She shushed him and continued her gentle rubs and touches. “Feel that?”

He nodded and watched. The simple act made his chest tight and when her fingers ghosted over the soles of his feet his body jerked. Belle laughed and apologized for finding his ticklish spot. As she moved to his calves, he readjusted. Her breasts grazed his leg when she leaned over him and kissed her way upward, over his knee and across his thigh before pulling back up and doing the other side.

“So strong,” she fawned over him as she traced the muscles in his legs. “Handsome and cunning.” A few days ago, her voice had been one of his only enjoyments in their bedroom activities. And he was pleased to realize that even with his regained sense, he still enjoyed the way she spoke to him.

Her nails caused the tiny hairs to stand on end and he gripped the sheet as she moved upward. Every bone in his body ached to be touched, to be shown the same amount of affection that she was showing his legs. In that moment he would have sold his soul to have her wrap her hand around his cock and whisper sweet nothings until he lost his mind.

She stopped using her nails and went back to using her mouth. This woman was going to be the death of him. The closer her lips came to the bend of his hip the more blood he could feel rushing to his groin. He grappled for her arm and tried to pull her up to him.

“Belle—“ he started to plead and she pushed his hand back into the mattress.

“No. There will be time for that. Let me do the work. Just close your eyes and feel.” She leaned up and gave in enough to kiss him on the lips and he whimpered softly, a noise he would deny later.

“Don’t make me tie you to the bed,” she joked as she pulled away. His hips jerked at the notion, bringing his now throbbing erection to brush against her thigh. Belle blushed and bit her lip.

“You like that idea?” She had to admit, the image of Renard on her blue-bed surrendered to her own desires caused things low in her stomach to tighten. Renard started to respond when the radio crackled on the bedside table. They both jumped and looked to the device.

_“Renard?”_

Silence fell again and Belle laid on her stomach between his thighs, arms crossed and resting on his chest, as he scooped up the walkie talkie. He let out a soft sigh as the weight of her against him offered much needed relief; he would have to remember not to moan over the radio system.

“I’m listening,” he said and released the button. He kept forgetting to shut the damn thing off when they locked the door. If he didn’t think the whole mansion would fall apart in his absence, he would have just left it downstairs. His other hand stroked Belle’s curls idly and she closed her eyes, resting her cheek on his chest as well. Her hands slid down and curled around his hip to squeeze his ass, smiling as he gripped her hair trying to focus on the radio.

_"We need you down stairs in the den. Now.”_

Renard’s brows furrowed and he turned his head to peer at the clock—it was still wrong from the power outage a week ago, that didn’t tell him anything. “What is it?”

_“Just get down here.”_ There was a pause before the radio beeped once and one of his men continued, _“And bring Ms. French.”_

His hand stilled in hair as she looked up. The radio went silent and they exchanged puzzled looks. She pushed against his chest to raise up slowly and sit back on her knees. Renard leaned up on his arms and took her in. She was showered, naked and helping him explore his sense of touch. If he went down there and this wasn’t important, someone was getting shot.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans.

She shook her head and did the same. “It’s alright. It must be important.”

“It better be,” he growled as he pulled his shirt on hastily. His jeans hung open as he found his belt and key ring from the floor. Belle watched and waited to get dressed until after he zipped them—enjoying the view.

Her hair was still wet and she threw it up into a pony tail as they headed down stairs. The mansion was empty like always, everyone doing their assigned jobs to build Renard’s empire. Renard kept his stride slow as Belle made it down the large stone steps, trying not to slip in her yellow socks. He looked at her, watching as she climbed down the steps like they were small mountains and when she caught up, he took her hand. It was small and he felt like he might crush it if he didn’t concentrate but when she gave it a light squeeze he felt his anger dissipate. Here’s to hoping whatever the men needed of him, it was over quickly.

As they entered the den the handful of men in the room stopped talking. Anderson ordered everyone out.

Felix was on the couch, feet propped on the table and he rose slowly so Belle could have his seat. The television on the wall across from the love seat was on. It was so rarely used, Belle thought it looked foreign and out of place. Belle let go of Renard and thanked Felix for his spot on the leather love seat. There was a tension in the room and a look in his eyes that made her feel uneasy.

“What is it Anderson?” Renard said as he stood behind Belle.

“We received this this morning.” He pointed the remote at the TV and the blue screen vanished once the video played. A bruised, middle-aged man came on screen. His head hung and blood could be seen weeping from a large cut above his eye.

He raised his head and Belle gasped, standing from the couch. “Papa—“

“Belle—“ Renard started but the man on screen cut him off.

Someone off screen told him to speak and the man took a breath before starting. “My name is Moe French and this message is for Renard.” He swallowed hard. “You have my daughter—“

Belle felt numb, like her insides had been hollowed out and her heart ripped from her breast. She walked forward slowly and extended her hand towards the TV. Her fingers trailed along the edge of Moe’s cheek on the screen before she pulled back quickly. Someone was sniffling softly and she realized it was her.

“Renard, inside the envelope this video will be sent in is a—“ Moe shook his head, slowly, shoulders hunched in misery as his voice cracked and he started again. “Please. I just want her back—just let me see her—“

One of the people working the camera hit her father in the jaw hard as he became off subject. The purpose of the video was to threaten Renard, not beg for his daughter. Belle yelped and put a hand to her mouth.

“You don’t want to see the rest.” Anderson paused it and Belle continued to stare, transfixed as her father stayed on the TV and silent tears ran down her cheeks. She’d spent the last decade mourning a man that was still alive. And now he was in trouble, bruised and battered at the hands of one of Renard’s probably endless number of enemies.

“Play it,” Belle said firmly.

“No, Duck,” Anderson refused. He had seen the tape along with Felix, having watched it not knowing what it contained and the rest was not pretty as Moe’s captors took turns using him as a punching bag. Belle imagined what was on the rest of the tape and the images made the tears fall faster. This was her fault, they wanted Renard, so they went through her and her father was suffering for it. Felix moved from the wall and hesitantly wrapped his large arms around her, squeezing tightly as she accepted the comfort and buried her face in his chest.

“Turn it off Anderson,” Renard said and the screen went black. No one moved. They stood and listened to Belle’s quiet breaths against Felix, the sobs she tried to repress as she thought of nothing but the horrors that were on the rest of that tape.

She turned around at last, voice steady for how frantic her eyes were. “Who sent this? Where is he?”

Anderson crossed his arms, “No idea. Video tape showed up this morning. Whoever it is wants you to come meet your father and exchange with Renard.” He held up a tiny slip of paper. “They left an address.”

“What do they want?” Renard asked, crossing his arms and keeping his face controlled.

“They didn’t say.”

Renard rubbed his eyes and thought for a moment. It was a bad sign that the people on the tape didn’t offer a clue as to what they wanted, if they wanted anything at all. They had left out the ransom on purpose, knowing it was something Renard wouldn’t want to trade. If they followed the instructions and met with whoever was on the tape, there was bound to be bloodshed.

Belle reached for the paper and Renard took it first. “No, Belle. We can’t—“

“What do you mean we can’t? Victor, he’s my father—he’s alive! We have to—“

“No.” Renard shook his head firmly and looked at her. “We have no idea what they want, who they are—Belle,” he took a breath and tried to say gently, begging her to see reason. “Whoever sent this wants you vulnerable and me to be out in the open.”

She knew he was right, knew the dangers, but she couldn’t stand here and do nothing. Belle reached for him before letting her hands fall to her sides. “I can’t leave him to die.”

Renard looked to Felix, his head guard and the man returned the look with those unblinking cat eyes. This was a trap. Whoever, sent the tape knew how badly Belle would want to come after her father and how Renard wouldn’t be able to say no. He could deny her, lock her in the mansion and forbid this from happening. But if he did that, he was slitting Moe French’s throat himself. If her father died, a part of Belle would die with him and Renard couldn’t bear to see that light extinguished. He looked back to Belle and knew he didn’t have a choice.

 “Victor, please.” She whispered quietly and that last word sealed his decision. He looked at the piece of paper and read the address, _Istanbul._

 “Gather our best,” he told Felix and the man as if commanded, pulled the hand gun from his waist and cocked it. The bullet clacked as it slid into the chamber loud enough to make Belle jump. “We can’t afford any mistakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is the song that inspired the entire fic and gave it it's title. We are almost at the end guys...not that many chapters to go. And it is pain from here on out. *hugs*


	14. The World is Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renard and Belle try and rescue her father.

 

Belle stepped off the sidewalk and into the busy street only to jump back as a car honked and swerved to miss her. The driver cursed loudly out the window and tourists on either side of her looked towards the commotion.

“S-shit,” she whispered, catching her breath before trying once more. This time she looked both ways.

_“What was it? What happened? Belle—“_ Her ear piece rumbled, the man on the other side already laden with worry.

“I’m fine Victor.” She said quietly and pulled her cream colored cardigan around her more tightly. When they left the mansion this morning it had been dark, but they needed the time if they were going to make it to the rendezvous point in Istanbul. After refusing to show her the rest of the ransom tape, Anderson had burned it, keeping only the address left in the envelope for Renard. And true to his word, Renard had stayed up the entire night, maps of the city spread on the kitchen table, calling in favors and debriefing his best on what would be needed for a rescue mission. If a rescue mission was even possible, he had no idea, but for Belle’s peace of mind, he planned for one.

The place she was supposed to meet her father was a small café on the edge of the road. As soon as Renard had laid eyes on it, he begged her to let them turn around and scrap the plan. It was too public, too many elements involved and too dangerous. They still didn’t have a clue as to what these mystery people wanted from the two of them, or if they wanted anything at all.

_“Don’t be frightened. You know how many eyes I have on you.”_ He said quietly. Although it sounded like he was reassuring himself more than her.

“I know,” she answered. It was hard to keep a conversation going with her earpiece as she moved through the groups of families taking photos of the scenery without looking like she was insane. There was no parking on the street in front of the café and Renard had been forced to park the van a block away, his only insight to her surroundings being what she told him through the radio.

_“Sit outside. Near the road.”_

Belle nodded even though he couldn’t see it and chose a table for two along the small decorative fence separating the dining area from the cobblestone. A waiter tried to help her and she dismissed him, trying for casualness by telling him she was waiting for someone.

_“What can you see?”_

She looked around slowly, trying to look natural. “The church is in front of me. The big on with the red door that we passed coming in. And—“ After a quick glance over her shoulder she continued, “The park is behind me to the right.”

_“Good.”_ He breathed a sigh of relief. She had done as he asked. _“Anderson is at your 12 o’clock, on the church.”_

_“I see you bright and clear, Duck.”_ Anderson came over the radio. How he managed to get on top of the building Belle could only guess, but she was certain he probably had her in his scope. _“Pretty dress.”_

Belle gave a small, ghost of a smile and mumbled, “Thank you.” Renard continued.

_“Felix is at your six. You won’t see him, but he’s there. Focus on everything else and keep me informed.”_

With her heart pounding in her chest, Belle watched as people came and went. In and out of the café and other trinket shops and she sat and envied the obliviousness to what was happening under their noses.

Was her father alive? Would he even come? He was beaten and who knew how he had suffered in the hands of these monsters. She gripped the hem on her dress and twisted it in her fingers tightly, repressing tears as the images of the tape still haunted her thoughts. Under the dress was a thigh holster and a Beretta hand gun. Renard had both custom made to fit the size of her leg and hand, apparently before the tape even arrived he had decided it was time for her to have a gun of her own.

“Victor?” she asked as she folded her hands on the table and forced them to be still.

_“Yes?”_

She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “This could be MI6.” If the agency knew about her relationship with Renard they would want to capture them both. They would shoot first and ask questions later. Although the secret service was not above torture, the only thing that didn’t make sense was why they would torture an innocent to trap her. Either way, if the threat was a result of her being a double oh, Renard had a right to know.

_“What do you mean?”_

“I should have said something earlier,” her voice waivered as she imagined his anger, or worse, his sense of hurt or betrayal. “It could be MI6 because I’m—“

“Belle—“

Belle stopped and looked up from her hands at the table. “Papa,” she breathed softly and moved to stand.

Moe French looked like hell. He stood across the table, hand in his coat pocket holding something. The cuts and bruises on his face had been washed and cared for in an attempt to minimize the damage before he went in public. Even though it was a chilly day in the city, the sun hiding behind clouds heavy with the oncoming rain, he was sweating. It dripped from his face and his shoulders held a tension that must have hurt.

“Don’t get up.” Moe told her shortly as Belle sat back down slowly and he followed suit across from her. Renard stayed quiet on her ear piece as Anderson quietly filled him in on what was happening from his spot on the church roof.

Belle couldn’t help it as a couple of tears fell down her cheeks and she smiled slightly. “You’re alive.” She reached across the table and took his free hand. He responded in a robotic way, stiff movements as if everything he did was instructed and Belle instantly saw the skin colored earpiece in his own ear.

“Papa, what’s going on? Who’s done this to you?” She gripped his hand, the surreal feeling of her father’s touch pulling on her heart made her want to throw herself into his arms like a child once again. Moe took his hand out of his coat pocket and placed both over hers, gripping tightly. His shoulders shook as he lowered his head in an attempt to conceal his tears from the people around them.

“You came—you came not knowing—“

“Of course I came. You have to tell me something, anything. Who did this? What do they want?” She tried, they needed anything he could give them, Renard would be listening and they needed a clue as to who they were dealing with.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said as he looked up, he didn’t care who saw his emotions, he wanted to look at his daughter. “God dammit, you should have stayed in Russia. You shouldn’t have come here.”

He said over and over as if he said it enough she would vanish back to the safety of Renard’s mansion. Belle leaned over the table a bit and hurried her words, they were wasting time.

“I couldn’t leave you. I wouldn’t leave you. Where ever you’ve been that doesn’t matter. Victor will—“

“Victor?” he stopped her. She paused and couldn’t help the small smile and shake of her head. Danger all around them and Moe still found the time to be the doting father, to question any man that had a part in her life that was not him.

“Renard.” She corrected herself so he would understand. His face fell and she continued, “Stop that. He’s a good man. Your daughter is safe.”

Moe gave a grunt like he didn’t believe her but the short up turn of his lips was playful. He wouldn’t spend the first time he saw his daughter in a decade arguing about her love life. He sat on the edge of his chair and pulled her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of her hand and pressing it to his face. The way he clung to her had her in tears again as she observed his face. Thick worry lines traced his once proud features, his rough skin was tanned and weathered from years of service and what she now assumed were years he had spent in hiding.

“Where have you been?” she asked quietly.

“I never meant to leave you. I wouldn’t—“

“I needed you.” She whispered.

Moe shook his head and kissed her hand again. “You’ve never needed anyone. Cared about everyone, perhaps.” He looked at her and bit his lip as his eyes drooped, heavy with pride over his only daughter. “You’re so beautiful.”

Belle blushed and forced herself to meet his face, so filled with emotion she could barely stand it. “Papa, stop—“

“You look just like your mother. So lovely, so intelligent—and I can’t take any credit for that. I was gone for so long and I’m sorry, Belle, I’m so sorry—“

She grabbed his hand with her other one and nodded. “I forgive you.” As soon as the words left her lips, Moe dissolved into tears, unashamed at who saw and he scooted his chair around the table to hold his daughter close. He hugged her with almost a crushing force as he wept against her hair and Belle heard a furious buzzing noise. Her ear piece remained silent, Renard and his men allowing her to have this moment with her father. The noise she heard was coming from his, whoever was on the other end was enraged about his actions, and apparently Moe was not following orders.

“Tell me, Papa tell me now. Who is doing this? We have to stop them.” There would be time for a proper reunion when they were both out of danger. If she could just get him back to the van, back to Renard, everything might be alright.

Moe pulled back slowly and shook his head, “It’s too late.”

* * *

 

Renard sat in the van, elbows on his knees, back hunched, listening to the conversation between father and daughter. Belle sounded broken and it made him both heartsick and furious. They needed information and Moe seemed unwilling to comply as he fawned over his daughter and blatantly avoided the situation at hand.

“Anderson, how do the other rooftops look?” He asked as he looked to the computer screens in front of him. He had managed to tap into the traffic camera a block down, he had sight of the main road, but it didn’t offer him what he really wanted, and that was his own eyes on Belle. He waited and Anderson said nothing. The other man in the van shrugged as he asked again, “Anderson?”

An ear splitting noise ripped through the radio system as it gave back frequency and was followed by static. Renard tried to rip it from his ear before it made him go deaf and paused as a voice came over the channel that did not belong to any of his team.

_“She’s pretty,”_ Elektra purred in his ear. _“I didn’t think you’d show up. You’re getting sloppy, my love.”_

Renard’s eyes grew wide as he searched the cameras for a sign of Elektra. From her words, she had eyes on Belle and he didn’t. The world seemed to narrow as his heart picked up and he knew he had been right-- this was a trap.

“How is she on our frequency?” he asked the man at his side working the controls and the lackey shook his head, not having any idea.

_“Are you so blinded by a pretty—cunt--“_ She paused and whispered the word, making it sound more elegant than it should have been. _“That you really fell for this little charade?”_ Renard remained silent and she laughed quietly in his ear. _“Oh, my, my, you are in trouble now aren’t you?”_

He moved to the trunk at the end of the van and threw it open, grabbing his gun and tucking it in the small of his back. Pressing a finger to his ear, he said hurriedly, “Belle, Belle get out of there. Now. Do you hear me? I mean it.”

“We’ve lost contact.” The man at the computer said quietly and Renard wipped around.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean whatever she’s using to tap into our channel has cut off our contact with the others. Ms. French can’t hear us.” He looked about as worried as Renard felt, as if his boss might blame him for this and shoot him on sight.

“What about Felix?” Felix was at Belle’s back, if he at least had contact with him he would feel safer.

The man shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Fuck—“ Renard cursed as he shut the trunk. He had to get to Belle. Elektra wouldn’t mess around; he had fallen for her tricks, played into her game and now he was holding a losing hand. He hurried and opened the door of the van and Elektra came back in his ear.

_“Now let’s see,”_ She purred. _“How fast can you run?”_

The earpiece went dead and he ripped it from his ear, tossing it to the floor as he jumped from the van. He took off down the busy street with his men yelling their protests from behind him. He ran. As hard and as fast as he could, not for himself but for Belle. He didn’t know what he would do, how he could help but whatever happened if he could just reach her, he could save her. People turned their heads as he shoved past them and into traffic. Cars honked as he hurried the block that separated them, it felt like miles. His heart was pounding and his muscles pumped acid as he ran harder than he ever had in his entire life.

The café was visible, but not close enough that he could make out where Belle was. He continued to push through the masses as he shouted her name, willed her to hear him and know that she should run.

Felix was perched at the bar and had noticed the radio had been silent for far too long. He looked up as Belle leaned across the table and begged her father for information. Moe only shook his head.

“You should leave,” he said hurriedly and shook his head over and over. “Go. Leave this place. Be safe-“

“No! Tell me now! Who wants Renard? Why do they—“ Belle yelled and Felix stood from the bar and started making his way over to her slowly.

“I can’t. She’s insane. She won’t stop—“

“She??” Belle asked quickly and Moe looked terrified.

He gave in and nodded, “Elektra King. You have a mole. Renard needs to know. She’d working with—“

A shot rang out and a bullet zipped through the air and hit Moe directly in the back of the skull. The life left his eyes as he lost his grip on her hands and his head slumped to the table. Tiny droplets of blood splattered Belle’s hands and cardigan and she froze. People started screaming. Running out of the café and surrounding buildings, shoving their way into the street as they laid eyes on the dead man now sitting on the outside apron.    

“BELLE!” Renard yelled as he made it in time to see the execution. Belle hit the ground hard as Felix pushed her to the pavement and covered her with his body. He was too tall and threatened to crush her as she pushed against his chest and screamed for her father.

Renard fell to his knees beside her and Felix moved. “Belle—Belle are you alright?” He shouted to be heard over the shrieking crowd.

She shoved him out of her way and scrambled to her father on the ground. He had been knocked from his chair and was face up, a pool of blood forming under his head, black and sticky. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“No. No. No. Papa!” Belle screamed for him and fought as Renard tried to pull her off the ground.

Shots rang out as Felix stood and took aim at a few of Elektra’s men quickly approaching. They had to get out of there.

“Belle! Belle—there’s nothing you can do—we have to go!” She fought him with all she had and he finally wrenched her to her feet and threw her over his shoulder, pulling the gun from the small of his back and firing with Felix. She pushed at his back and yelled for him to put her down as he ran out into the road looking for an escape. Felix could hold his own, they would each escape individually and all end up back at the mansion.

In the middle of the chaotic traffic, Renard saw what he wanted. He carried Belle and weaved through the cars, stopping at a man on a motorbike. Renard blocked his path and reached out, hitting the throttle and sending the bike lurching forward and throwing the man to the blacktop. He set the bike to rights with his free arm and straddled it, putting Belle in front of him and wrapping an arm around her tightly.

“Hey! What do you think you’re—“ The owner yelled and Renard pointed the hand gun at him. “Take it, man.” The young kid whimpered, throwing up his hands as Renard took off.

He pushed the throttle down as far as it would go, rocketing down the streets once they weaved through the traffic. Elektra’s men were in hot pursuit and Renard sped forward.

“Go back!” Belle sobbed over the roar of the motor and reached for the break on the left handle. Renard grabbed her wrist and pinned it to her chest as they turned the corner with a skid against the cobblestone.

“No, Belle!” he yelled back and kept his grip on both her and the gas. “He’s gone!”

“I can save him!” Even as the words left her mouth she knew they were a lie. Moe was gone. As cold and vacant as the look on his face and with the blood that was on the pavement there was nothing she could do. She felt Renard shake his head and he pressed his lips to her hair and held her close. His grip on her changed from one of restraint to one of comfort and she sobbed as he slowed and turned down an alley way. They had left the commotion and he put his feet down firmly, letting the bike idle.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” He balanced the bike and held her, wanting to embrace her properly but not daring to abandon their getaway vehicle until they knew the danger had passed. He looked down each street wondering which path to take as she quieted in his arms.

The distant rumble of other motorcycles could be heard and they were approaching quickly.

“Belle,” Renard said as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I need you. I need you to pull it together. We are not getting out of this unless you do, do you understand?”

Belle looked at him and took a deep breath before nodding. He would protect her, get them back to Russia in one piece but he couldn’t do it alone. He brushed her hair out of her eyes, her braid ruined from Felix tackling her to the ground and said firmly, “I’ll drive. You shoot.”

He reached back and gave her his gun from the waistband of his jeans. It was too big for her tiny hand but it would have to do. She turned around slowly, facing him and riding the bike backwards. One leg went around his waist, straddling him and she put her left arm around his neck and took aim over his shoulder. She would be his eyes and the only protection he had against the people chasing him.

“Victor, I c-can’t—“

Shots came from the main road and Renard ducked as a bullet lodged itself into the bricks above his head.

“Shoot, Belle!” he said firmly and she jumped into action. Balancing her forearm on his shoulder, she aimed and fired. He twisted the handle and took off once again as an expensive black car filled the alleyway and sped after them. The car barely fit and the walls took the mirrors off with a loud crack but that didn’t stop Elektra’s men as they continued to come after them.

Belle squeezed off three rounds and the bullets lodged in the windshield of the car but didn’t slow it down. She tried shooting the tires, taking aim close to the road and firing off six more rounds, nothing worked. Renard made it onto the main street, going the wrong way down a one way and the honking of other vehicles didn’t stop them either. Belle continued to fire hoping to hit a weak spot in the glass and it wasn’t long before the gun clicked empty.

“I’m out!” she yelled, facing Renard.

“Inside, left pocket!”

He slammed on the brakes almost colliding with a delivery truck as she opened his jacket to find his spare clip. She pulled back the chamber, hit the side button and ejected the empty one, tossing it to the road before slamming the new one home.

“Got it!” she ducked, burying her face against his chest as he covered her from the machine gun fire that came directly over their heads. People screamed, abandoned their cars and Renard looked up just enough to speed up. The sound of crashing metal could be heard all around as the black town car made a beeline for them.

Belle resumed firing, aiming for the windshield in hopes that it would break or she would hit the driver. If they didn’t stop them soon, they would be trapped, game over. Renard whipped the bike around as the alley led to a dead end and he raced back onto the main road, they were getting close to the marina and were running out of paths that weren’t obstructed by traffic, dead ends, or the sea.

The gun clicked empty again and Renard shook his head. He was out of clips. Belle threw it aside and hiked up her dress, yanking the Beretta from her thigh and continuing a rhythmic stream of shots. Renard smiled a little and pressed on, taking the ramp that lead to the docks. They sped downward, hoping to lose them on the steps that were too narrow for anything but the bike but it was a long shot as the car gained on them.

Belle fired, nearly on her last shot, and hit a weak spot in the glass. The windshield spider webbed and the driver slammed on the breaks, twisting the car in a jack knife motion and colliding with the wall. Both drivers jumped from the car, knowing Renard was almost out of options and opened fire on them with automatic weapons.

“Victor!” Belle yelled as her gun clicked empty and a bullet pinged off the side of the motorcycle’s engine.

His eyes narrowed on the edge of the dock and he said close to her ear, “Hold your breath.”

She gripped him tightly as he jumped the small ledge and the bike wobbled on the new wooden surface of the dock. He did the only thing he could do and ran the bike off the edge. In the split second they were in midair he threw Belle from his arms so she didn’t have to take the force of the cycle slapping the water.

Fully submerged, the water was like ice. Cold, black and Renard grappled until his hand closed around her wrist and dragged her down further. Her natural instinct was to fight him but he yanked her to him and held her under as a spray of bullets peppered the water around them. Leaving trails of bubbles as they hit the water and lost their force. He could hear the rhythmic sound of muffled machine gun fire as Elektra’s men coated the surface of the sea in enough lead to kill anything within a 15 foot radius.

Renard opened his eyes and pulled her gently, helping her swim away from the wreckage and into the darker waters beneath the docks. His eyes stung with the frigid water and he strained to see Belle. As he pulled her close he saw her eyes were opened and he pointed to the surface and they swam upwards.

Belle broke the top of the water slowly and it took all she had not to gasp for the much needed air. She breathed quietly through her nose, keeping the rest of her submerged as Renard came up behind her and did the same.

He pulled her against his chest and held her tightly, pressing them into the shadows against the rocks under the docks as they both caught their breath and listened.

“I don’t see them. No, there’s not a body.” There was a pause as he waited for a response. Belle could make out Elektra shrieking her displeasure on the other end of the radio but couldn’t make out what she was saying. “You want us to find them?”

“I’m not going down there.” The other man said in a voice deep enough it should have hurt.

“Yes, Elektra. We’ll find them.” The first man lied to the radio. The radio went silent and the deeper voice spoke again.

“If you want to get in that water, be my guest. They’re as good as dead anyway.”

Both seem to reach an agreement and they stood at the dock and emptied their guns into the water. Bullets sprayed in all directions as it rippled the surface enough to look like rainfall. Belle clutched Renard, smothering a whimper and he put his hand over her mouth for good measure. They were almost there, if they could just wait out Elektra’s lackeys.

The sound of boots on the wood above their heads died off as the men returned to the car. The engine came to life and after the car drove away Renard and Belle remained under the dock. He held her and they both relearned how to breathe as the icy water pressed down on their lungs and Belle started to shiver in his arms.

“Come on,” he said quietly and let her go enough to swim under the wood and to the rock wall of the dock. Renard hoisted himself up over the ledge, dragging himself up with only the strength of his arms as his feet slipped on the algae covered stones. He leaned over and pulled Belle up, careful not to scrape her against the surface and she fell into his arms, shaking as the adrenaline left her body and she was left hollow.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking her over and checking for injuries. She nodded slowly but didn’t speak. “Stay with me. We still have to make it back.” He took off his jacket and draped it over her. It was soaked as well but hopefully the added weight would calm the oncoming panic that he saw in her eyes. She busied herself with wringing the water out of her dress as he looked around for their next course of action.

He grabbed her hand and hurried along the wall of the marina. Sticking to the shadows as the clouds became denser and thunder rumbled in the distance. Belle stayed close to his side, hair stuck to her face, dripping, huddled in his leather coat that wasn’t doing any good.

“Does your ear piece still work?” he grumbled as they made it to a quiet side street that lined small apartments and shops.

Belle touched her ear, “F-felix?” She trembled and received nothing but static. The feed was gone, either lost to Elektra or ruined by the water. She shook her head and Renard cursed quietly, pulling her against his side gently so she knew he wasn’t cursing at her.

He planted her on the sidewalk and started checking the few cars that lined the streets. He pulled on the handles looking for one that was unlocked; all of them were sealed tight. A black land rover caught his eye and he made sure Belle was out of the way before he used his elbow to break out the glass. He winced, forgetting how much things like this used to hurt and reached in, unlocking the door and brushing the shattered glass from the seat.

“Get in,” he said gently and unlocked her door. He popped the console off the underside of the steering wheel and felt around until he was able to yank out a handful of colorful wires. Using the pocket knife from his boot, he shook the water off and cut the few cords that he needed, twisting them together.

“Come on—come on.” He growled, holding the knife between his teeth and the engine roared to life. He turned on the heat full blast for Belle and looked to her as she sat in the front seat shivering.

She hadn’t scolded him for stealing the car. Hadn’t mentioned finding the owner and offering them a form of compensation. She stared blankly out the window, breath uneven, almost jerky.

“Belle?” he said quietly and put his hand on her leg. As soon as he touched her, she burst into tears and leaned over the gearshift to lay her upper body on his lap. He curled over her as much as the steering wheel would allow, holding her tightly as she cried, letting the car idle. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Belle cried until her chest ached and her throat was raspy and there was nothing he could do about it. Moe French was dead, and all they had learned was Elektra was behind it. She’d be coming for them next and as Renard rocked Belle gently, offering the heat of the car and his arms for comfort, he vowed he would be ready.

* * *

 

It took them the rest of the day and well into the night to make it back to the mansion. Belle had finally passed out, exhausted from her tears, still partly in his lap. As Renard drove in silence, he stroked her back gently. He thought, he planned, and he envisioned Elektra’s future death and his anger cooled slightly. They turned onto the snow covered road and the land rover had no problems making the slight climb to the mansion hidden just beyond the trees.

He parked outside the main entrance and shut off the engine. The light dimmed and Belle woke up just enough to move from his lap. Before she knew it, he had her door open and scooped her up, shutting the door with his hip.

“Victor—no—“ she sniffed in protest as she put her arms around his neck to keep from falling.

“Shut up—“ he said softly as he adjusted her. “Just let me carry you.”

On the drive home he had realized how close today was. He had almost lost her at the hands of Elektra and all he wanted was to hold her against him and thank the powers that be that she didn’t have to pay for his mistakes. She buried her face against his neck and he felt her hot tears against his skin. As she started crying again, his fury resurfaced.

“Renard!” Anderson looked up as they walked inside and Felix came out of the kitchen. Felix helped him close the door and he set Belle down gently. He had her lean against his head guard and she whimpered softly not wanting to let go of Renard.

“Thank God—we thought you were dead. How did—“ Anderson started but was cut off as Renard gripped him by the throat and slammed him up against the wall.

“V-Victor!” Belle yelled as he ripped the gun from Anderson’s side holster and shoved the barrel into the fleshy part of the man’s throat. He pinned him easily and it was impressive considering how much Anderson outweighed his boss.

“Where the fuck were you!” Renard snarled and clicked the hammer back on the gun. “You didn’t answer your radio.”

Anderson, struggled to speak around Renard’s grip and his own gun as both threatened to crush his windpipe.

“E-Elektra cut off our radio system. Everyone was cut off. I-I didn’t hear you!” Renard gripped tighter and he continued to choke out, “I was on the roof. Trying to cover Felix and find the other shooter.”

“You said the roof was clear!” If Anderson had done his job the other shooter wouldn’t have been able to get sights on Moe. Moe might still be alive and they would have the information they needed.

“It was!” Anderson yelled. “I know how to do my job, Renard. When have I _ever_ let you down?”

Renard glared at him and held on tightly, daring him to try and escape, willing him to admit to things he might not have done. Belle was hurt, people were dead and he wanted answers.

“You think I’m the mole don’t you?” Anderson said quietly and Renard backed down slightly. “You want to find who betrayed us then you need to look at the people you left behind today, not the ones that were protecting your ass.”

“ _Find. Me. Elektra. King_.” He snarled in Anderson’s face and the other man started to respond.

Felix made a noise as Belle’s legs crumpled and he caught her as best he could. Renard gave Anderson back his gun and went to help her.

“I’m not done with you,” he said to Anderson as he put his arm around Belle’s waist to keep her standing.

“Oh, no I think you are.” He holstered his gun and threw up his hands. “Come find me when you’ve cooled that damn temper of yours.”

Belle laid her head on his shoulder as Anderson walked out. “G-get me to the kitchen.” She said softly and Renard helped her the few feet to the other room. She had cried so hard she made herself sick. Her body couldn’t take anymore as her adrenaline was long gone and her muscles shut down. She made it in time to vomit in the sink and Renard held her and kept her hair out of the way until she was done.

“I-I’m sorry,” she managed to say before she was racked with another round of dry heaves.

He shook his head and took a cold rag from Felix as he produced one from the other sink. “Don’t be. It’s okay.” He moved her bangs aside and placed the cloth on her forehead and waited for her to stop.

“Felix, go find Anderson. Watch him. Help him hunt down that bitch.” Renard still had his suspicions, though Belle was certain it was his anger blinding his good judgment. Today had been a disaster and while Elektra remained elusive Renard needed someone to blame.

Felix leaned down and pointed to Belle before signing “O-K” and raising his eyebrows in a question.

She couldn’t help but smile sadly and nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Once they were left alone, Belle rinsed her mouth with cold water and used the cloth to wipe her face and neck. She wanted to go upstairs, to lock the door and lay in the dark until she quit feeling this way. She wanted the hollow ache to go away and to forget about the blood on her dress and the scene that kept replaying in her mind. Renard seemed to know what she wanted as he led her to the door and stopped at the steps.

“P-please don’t carry me. Just help me.” She said quietly. In his arms she felt helpless, she knew he only wanted to help but it seemed to make it worse. He nodded and slowly they made it through the dark hallways to her room on the second floor.

She didn’t turn away from his help, so once the door closed behind him that is what he continued to do. He tossed away his still damp jacket and helped her get out of the sun dress, giving her one of his shirts and a pair of her sweats. He couldn’t remember when he started keeping his own clothes in the blue room but it did come in handy as he changed into dry clothes as well.

“Don’t leave me,” she said quietly as he pulled her hair back for her and clipped it gently with one of the small contraptions from the dresser that he had seen her use before. She imagined him beating on the men until they confessed, finding Elektra and leaving her upstairs with nothing but reliving today’s events. She didn’t want that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he shook his head and helped her climb in the bed. Pulling her into his arms, he relaxed as she grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and clung to him. She didn’t cry, didn’t sniffle, she had no tears left and they hadn’t done her any favors. She simply breathed. Focusing on the rhythm of her own lungs and the comforting scent of Renard as she let the blackness swallow her whole.

* * *

 

Renard had fallen asleep on his stomach and he rolled over in blind search of Belle once he realized his arms were empty. All his hands found were the cotton sheets and he instantly opened his eyes.

“Belle?” he said into the dark quietly. It was around 3AM and his body groaned in protest as he sat up; they had only been asleep for about an hour. She wasn’t in the bed, the chair in the corner was vacant as well, and his heart sunk a little as he flipped on the light in the bathroom and didn’t find her either.

He was about to rally the mansion into a full on search until he spotted her on the balcony. She was simply standing out there, hands poised on the railing, staring out into the dark as the wind whipped her hair around her face and the snow fell around her.

He opened the door quietly so he didn’t scare her and said once the wind died down, “Belle? What are you—“

“Is this how you felt?” she asked without looking at him. He stepped beside her on the balcony. His boots, tossed on without being tied, crunched in the fine layer of snow that had settled since the sun had set.

“What?” He shivered and crossed his arms over his chest. God dammit, it was cold. One of the few things he had not missed when his sense of touch had been taken.

“Is this how you felt? All those years before I came around,” she looked at him then. “Numb? Empty?”

She had been out here long enough that she was frozen. Her skin in a shell of cold as she watched it snow in nothing but her pajamas. He listened and nodded slowly. He didn’t like to think about life before Belle. Before he took her he had been both of those things and a million more equally dismal words. And now she was too. He had dragged her down into the depths of his world and she was ruined. Well, not yet. But if she stayed any longer she would be.

“Belle, come back inside,” he said. She was barefoot, standing in the snow until her toes were red and well on their way to darker colors. All she had against the weather was his shirt and she didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m tired, Victor.” She shook her head and turned to face him fully. “I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what? What are you talking about?” He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to move her back inside but she shrugged him off and walked in on her own.

“I’m done shooting. I’m done with the spy shit. I’m done with meddling in things that are out of my control.” She joined MI6 because she wanted adventure, but not like this. Not when her adventures were wrought with death and destruction. She looked at Victor and knew she wanted something else. She didn’t understand it but she wanted him, if only he could see that in order to have that, they couldn’t continue to live this way.

“There will always be governments, Victor. There will always be bad men and women bathing in the blood of those who cannot help themselves and nothing you or I do will ever change that.” She gestured outward with her hands, breathing faster as she looked at him with wild eyes.

“Belle—stop.” He shut the balcony doors and walked towards her. “Listen—“

“No, you listen!” She met him in the middle and jabbed her finger in his chest. “You cannot take down an entire country. You will try, you will fail and Russia will still stand!” She shoved him and didn’t know where her anger was coming from but she held onto it, liking it much better than her tears.

“You will be stopped and they—they’ll execute you! No matter what you believe, you are not invincible! MI6 will kill—“ She stopped as she thought of something she never had before. “Unless that’s what you wanted?”

Renard stayed quiet, hands at his sides, unable to give her an answer that wouldn’t break her heart. Belle took his silence and kept talking.

“The mobile phone, the disk, Russia’s finances. You knew this was a horrible idea. You wanted to be caught? You—you wanted to—to,” she stopped and put a hand over her mouth. Victor had taken her, tried to steal the Quartermaster of MI6, and hatched a plan so ridiculous it could only end one way: his death.

“Belle,” he tried softly and she smacked away his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” she moved away from him and put her hands on the dresser.

Renard felt miserable. She was too smart. For over a decade he had lived in hell and his mission was to go after something crazy enough to finally bring about his end because he wasn’t strong enough to do it himself. He had been selfish, dragging Anderson and Felix along for the ride in a quest that he wanted to end in blood. But not anymore. After Belle, he wanted to scrap the mission, abandon it all, but he couldn’t, not when he had this much invested. Could he?

“I watched my father die again today. I had to throw away my clothes because I couldn’t stand the thought of trying to scrub his blood out of it. And after all of this,” she gestured between them. “This whole time, you’ve been chasing death.” She watched him in the reflection for a moment before turning around. “The world’s not enough is it, Victor? Well, I have something to tell you, it will _never_ be enough.”

He shoulders slumped as she made her point and her eyes fell to her feet, unable to look at him. At one time, he had wanted the world. Wanted the whole thing and had thought of nothing else but taking what he thought he deserved. What Elektra thought they deserved. In his days with the KGB he wanted to destroy the world and only after meeting Elektra did he want to own it. What did he want now?

“You’re right,” he cleared his throat and walked to her. She fought him as he used a finger to try and make her look up so he grabbed her by the chin and didn’t give her a choice. She glared at him, eyes full of fire and he knew she wasn’t ruined. He couldn’t ruin someone like Belle and he gave a sigh of relief.

She tried to pull away and he tightened his grip, not hurting her but rendering her immobile with her jaw in his hands. “Let me go—“ she whispered.

“The world is not enough. I just had to find something worth more than the world.”

She stopped her struggle and looked at him. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He loosened his grip on her jaw. “I don’t want to die. I thought I did. But I am just as tired as you are.”

If he was telling the truth then the ideas that crossed her mind were not uncalled for.

“Then quit. Hang up the rifle and leave.” What did men of his profession do when they called it quits? Retire? There had to be another word for it. This was the only solution. If she could convince him to stop the madness, to live for something other than villainy, for something good, if she could convince him to just _live_ then they might have a shot.

“With you?” he asked hesitantly, not daring to believe that she wanted to run away with him after everything.

“Who else could handle your temper?” She had enough time to follow her words with a small smile before he kissed her.

“What about Elektra?” she mumbled against his lips.

“We’ll find her,” he put his hand in her hair and kept her pressed against him. “Where will we go?”

“No idea,” she said back and put her arms around his neck to claim his lips for the next few moments. He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers, giving her soft brushes against her mouth with his lips as she let out a contented sigh. She heard him opening the top dresser drawer beside her and she opened her eyes to see him look over her shoulder in search of something.

He pulled something from the drawer and held it between his thumb and index finger for her to inspect. A soft noise left her mouth as she laid eyes on something she thought she would never see again.

“I believe this is yours,” he said quietly as he opened her hand and dropped her mother’s ring onto her palm.

She stared at it and didn’t know what to say. He had taken her most prized possession before she’d ever set foot in the mansion after what felt like a lifetime ago. And now he was trusting her to have it again, even with Q’s built in tracker, he pressed it to her palm and trusted her not to use it against him.

“Thank you,” she whispered and he kissed her forehead gently as she slipped it on her finger. The room was still dark and she was still exhausted. Back in bed, with her back pressed to Renard’s chest, she moved her fingers in the moonlight slowly and watched the ring glint. Renard squeezed her tightly and she heard his breathing slow as he fell asleep with ease. She closed her eyes and thought of her father. Not of his final moments earlier that day, but of the good moments they had had many years ago. Thought of his strength and his wisdom and how he would have loved to know that she was leaving behind this life of chaos; a life he never wanted for her in the first place. She would go. She would take Renard. And she would do it for her father.

But first, Elektra had to pay. 


	15. Judas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mole is discovered.

Belle opened her eyes to the sound of yelling. Renard was still at her back so at least it meant he hadn’t gotten up in the middle of the night and picked another fight with Anderson. It wasn’t as bright as it should have been and after a quick glance at the clock she found out why. They had been asleep for almost fifteen hours.

Renard felt her move and pressed her to his chest, nuzzling her hair and letting out a deep breath as he resettled. Belle’s body felt heavy from too much sleep and too many tears. She probably could have continued to sleep, but the yelled continued below them.

“Victor,” she whispered, nudging him gently and he gave a small grunt of protest. “Victor, wake up.”

“Belle—“ he started to complain and then he heard the noises as well and froze, listening. “God dammit,” he cursed quietly as he let her go and leaned over to scoop up his radio. He barely had time to press the button down before their door banged open with the force of someone kicking it in.

Belle yelled and Renard grabbed his gun out of the holster that he kept hanging on the headboard. He cocked it in record time, putting a bullet in the chamber and pointing it at the doorway only to lower it when he realized he was taking aim at Felix’s chest.

“Felix!” Renard breathed a little relieved, “What the hell—“

It was easy to see why his head guard had kicked in the door, with his rifle in one and a woman in the other, his hands were a little full. She shrieked and cursed him and he growled before throwing her to the floor on the side of the bed closest to Renard. Felix looked like hell, but Elektra looked worse.

“You—you imbecile—I wish I would have cut your tongue out myself—how dare you touch me—“ she spit at Felix’s feet like an injured cobra and he chuckled, clearly not affected by her actions or words.

Renard got up and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Elektra,” he growled and she looked to him, staying on her knees.

“Renard,” she breathed and got to her feet slowly. Her anger faded and in his presence she seemed almost docile.  Her eyes softened around the edges and the storm within those chocolate irises ceased. Some part inside of her still thought Renard was within her reach and Belle almost felt sorry for her—almost.

Belle stood and Elektra snapped her head towards her, like a hawk spying prey. “You—“ Before she could move, Felix grabbed her by the hair and held her in place. Elektra screeched but didn’t fight him, deciding tackling Belle was not worth getting her hair ripped out.

“That was quick, Felix,” Renard said, pulling on a black tee shirt and putting the gun at the small of his back.

“Too busy to find me yourself?” Elektra glared at Renard and Felix loosened his grip. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Haven’t worked that part out yet,” Renard said flatly and nodded to Felix. “Cuff her and put her in the den.”

Felix nodded and transferred his grip to her arm. Elektra didn’t seem afraid or worried for what would happen after Renard came down stairs, it was almost if she expected it. In this mansion that she once called home, she still believe she was untouchable. She followed beside Felix as he walked her to the door and they paused for a moment in front of Belle.

Belle had tried her best to calm her frazzled curls after Renard had pinned them but it was no use. She could only imagine how puffy her eyes were but she stood tall anyway. That didn’t stop Elektra from noticing her disheveled appearance.

“Oh, my dear,” she cooed. “I understand.” She leaned a little closer to Belle and both men watched her carefully. “My father’s dead too.”

The words hit Belle like a rock and before she could think about it she jerked forward and head butted Elektra in the face. The woman was far too close to her and a punch wouldn’t sate the fury that had welled up inside Belle’s tiny body.

Elektra yelled and fell backwards against Felix, putting a hand to her face as her nose erupted in a rush of crimson.

“Belle!” Renard said and grabbed her, pulling her behind him and looking at Elektra with wide eyes. Elektra was taller than Belle by about half a foot. The power that went into her jumping high and hard enough to break the larger woman’s nose was impressive enough that Renard caught himself smiling like a fool.

“Y-you little bitch!” Elektra cursed, muffled behind her hand and she tried to stop the blood.

“Get her out of here,” Renard said as Felix dragged Elektra from the bedroom. He could feel Belle behind him breathing hard and he turned slowly.

“T-that felt good,” Belle said quietly and he smiled more. She winced and put a hand to her forehead. “Ow, you make it look so easy.”

Renard laughed and pulled her to him in a quick hug before inspecting her forehead. There would be a bruise in the next few days. He tucked a curl behind her ear and his smile faltered.

“What are we going to do with her?” She asked quietly.

He shook his head. Never in a million years had he expected his men to find Elektra so quickly. But they had. Now what was he supposed to do with her? Kill her? The idea was tempting. But they still didn’t know who the mole was. Perhaps they could get it out of her. He had a feeling Belle wouldn’t like it if he asked her to stay upstairs while he tortured his ex-lover.

His face sobered and he tried to calmly explain the only course of action that was reasonable. “She can’t be allowed to live, Belle.”

“She might be able to tell us who betrayed you and stole the disk,” Belle said quietly.

“Perhaps.”

Belle was quiet for a few moments. He was right. Elektra could not be allowed to walk out of this mansion. If she did, she would come back; she would cause more bloodshed and destruction and it would be their fault for letting her go free. Even if Elektra reviled the traitor on Renard’s payroll, it was not enough to redeem her.

“Make it quick,” she finally said. She had asked him to become a better man, but she couldn’t fault him for this. Being a better man didn’t mean he had to be stupid; Elektra had to die.

Downstairs was chaos. Elektra’s screams had awakened the mansion and in the short time it took Felix to restrain her in the downstairs living room, the knowledge of her presence spread like wildfire. Anderson came running as Renard called him over the radio and the three of them met at the bottom of the stairs.

“So, it’s true? Felix found her?” Anderson heaved, out of breath from leaving his position on the roof.

Renard nodded and ordered another man to replace Anderson. They walked down the corridor, past the kitchens and through the grand hall. Belle matched his strides easily through weeks of practice.

“I need two men outside the door of the down stairs library,” Renard said into the walkie talkie, releasing the button with a beep.

_“Copy that, Renard.”_ Someone responded.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Anderson said.

Renard pressed the button again and held it to his lips, “Make it three and give me someone at the bottom of the stairs.”

Every bit of it was absolutely necessary and Renard glared at Anderson, daring his second in command to tell him otherwise. Elektra was now in a confined space with Belle, he wasn’t going to allow his pride to jeopardize her life. They didn’t need back up but he would make sure it was in place just in case all hell broke loose.

“Where is she?” Anderson puffed.

“Felix has her in the den.” He walked across the main hall and asked the radio for a location on Romanov. No one seemed to know where the young man was and Renard rolled his eyes.

“What are you going to do with her?” Anderson asked.

“Still working that out,” Renard replied. He cast a quick glance at Belle before opening both doors to the den with one push. He paused just inside the door way and handed Belle his gun. The Colt .45 was bigger than her Beretta; he kept it by the bed, used it in the house, not wanting to take the chance of losing it on a mission. It was his favorite and Belle had never seen anyone else touch it, until now.

Belle clicked the safety and held it by her side, not really having pockets big enough to handle his weapon of choice.

“Think I’m that dangerous, my love?” Elektra smirked as Belle moved behind the couch and Anderson shut the door.

Her hands were cuffed in her lap, sitting in one of the leather chairs that Felix had dragged into the middle of the floor. Her nose had finally stopped bleeding but the remnants were still drying on her upper lip and silk blouse. Felix had his rifle pressed to her hair and only when Renard waved him away did he remove it to stand guard by the door.

“Give me a reason to keep you alive. Tell me what I want to know.” Renard started.

Elektra laughed. Cuffed and caught and she still thought she had the upper hand, milking Renard’s past feelings for all they were worth and it made Belle want to shoot her between the eyes.

“Where should I start?” She gloated. “The disk, your trade with Romania, yesterday’s execution in Istanbul? You think the mole is just one person? I have people everywhere.” She said.

Renard shook his head. “No, I have people everywhere, Elektra. All you ever had was daddy’s money.”

Her smirk faltered and she glared at him. Eyes hardening into a menacing stare as if she willed the mansion to crumble around him and kill them all.

Anderson’s radio crackled and he flicked it off. The room remained quiet and the group had reached an impasse. Elektra wasn’t willing to give information and Renard wasn’t willing to beat it out of her. Belle thought that perhaps Felix could do it, the silent man had a soft spot for her but held a darkness that she knew would come out when the time arose. But one of the things that made Renard such a good leader was he never asked of his men what he wouldn’t do himself, so the pair continued to stare one another down.

“I guess you’ll just have to kill me,” She challenged. Belle watched as Renard fought for control over his face. A war waged within him over the thought of killing the woman cuffed and bleeding in the chair. For as evil as she was, for how many lives they had destroyed, Renard had loved her. Nearly a decade ago he had tried to give her the world and Belle pitied that his efforts were wasted on an ice queen like Elektra.

Belle reached out and grabbed his arm pulling him back slightly. He jerked with surprise, half forgetting she was there.

“Maybe you should wait outside,” she asked quietly and Renard’s eyes grew wide.

“No. Absolutely not.” His answers were brief and stern, a tone he rarely used anymore when speaking to Belle and she knew she wouldn’t be getting one on one time with Elektra while Renard was alive. She touched his arm and gently moved him in the direction of the couch, settling for taking his place in front their prisoner. She felt movement behind her as Felix readjusted his gun and Anderson stood behind Elektra’s chair.

Belle stood close; closer than Renard would have liked but he didn’t stop her. Something like this had been bound to happen. Tranquil cerulean eyes met fierce amber ones and the men surrounding them held their breath.

“You know what I want to know, there’s no use denying that.” Belle said. “Make this easy on yourself, Elektra and tell me who stole the disk. Who betrayed us?”

Elektra sat in silence, eyes turned from Belle and was almost vibrating with rage. She would never take orders from someone such as this. In this house she had been a queen and she wanted to throttle the woman that now threatened to take her title from her.

“It’s a shame your father didn’t get to see this little display.” Elektra moved her head gesturing to Belle. “Such bravery. He was brave too—until the end. Would you like to know how he begged for you-“

“I should kill you,” Belle said softly and Elektra froze. No one had expected those words to come from her and the danger they held sounded wrong when uttered in that gentle tone. She held the Colt at her side and sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“I should kill you for what you’ve done to me, to my father and to Victor.”

“Victor?” Elektra scoffed. “So it’s Victor now-“

“Don’t speak,” Belle snapped and Elektra flinched. She gripped the colt and added, “And don’t say his name.”

She didn’t deserve it. Renard leaned uncomfortably against the leather sofa—shoulders tensed, feeling like he was eavesdropping on a very private matter. The way Belle forbid Elektra from saying his real name shouldn’t have made his heart flutter like it did. His name was their secret—their solemn truce-- and she valued it enough to order about a deranged heiress. He watched the back of her brown curls and knew that when he promised her his retirement the night before it had been the right decision.  

“I should kill you,” Belle repeated. “But I won’t.”

She set the Colt down on the table beside her and Elektra watched with suspicious eyes. Elektra started to lean up but Anderson stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder and a nod toward his rifle.

“Because you’re weak.” She spat and jerked her arm from Anderson’s hold.

“No, I’m not.” Belle didn’t shy away. She stood and jabbed her finger in Elektra’s blood-covered blouse. “It’s because life—all life—is important. Even if you waste it being heartless.”

In her weeks with Renard it had become their mantra of sorts. She’d always believed the words but in making him believe it as well they had become sacred.

She stood and nodded to Anderson. She was finished, said her peace and turned from Elektra to stand by Renard. It was useless to stand and argue morality with someone like Elektra King. The woman was vile enough to withhold information, to not use her last breath to do the right thing and neither Belle nor Renard was willing to force it out of her. Their best bet was to leave her locked and bound in one of the upstairs rooms—allowing time to loosen her tongue.

Belle handed him back his gun and he holstered it quickly in favor of cupping her face and placing a kiss on her forehead. A quick brush of lips that he knew Felix would be proud of and Anderson would chose to ignore. For a spilt second he forgot about Elektra sitting there and her reaction brought him back to reality.

Elektra jumped to her feet and screeched as Anderson grabbed her by the hair. She yelled, her attention on Belle as she fought to cross the room and kill her competition. “He’ll never love you. Not like he loved me!”

Belle took Renard by the hand and nodded, “Good.”

She didn’t want Renard to love her like he had loved Elektra. She wanted him to love her—eventually—like Belle. Elektra stumbled, once again shocked by the tiny woman she had written off since first meeting her at MI6.

As the two made it to the door she fought Anderson and yelled, “She’s an agent, Renard!”

They stopped in the door way and Belle felt Renard grip her hand with a vice that almost hurt.

“What?” He said quietly and looked over his shoulder.

Elektra smirked. She used the only weapon she had—her words. “Not so perfect now is she, my love?” She adjusted her hands against the zip tie and held them out slightly as if beckoning him closer. “She lied to you.”

“You don’t know that—“

“Oh but I do,” she purred. “When they had me in MI6 I heard things about your precious Belle French. Or should we be honest and say Agent 009?”

“Stop it—“ Belle warned as she looked at Elektra and balled her fists.

“She works with _Bond,_ Renard. He’s probably had her—like he had me.“ She smirked and held her bound hands to her breast, closing her eyes as if remembering James’s expert knowledge in bed.

“Enough—“ Belle said again as her cheeks burned. It made her look guilty of something that had never come close to happening. But Renard didn’t know that.

“She played you. From the beginning—she’s not the quartermaster—“

Renard’s lips thinned and he shook his head. “I don’t want to hear this—“ He released Belle and she tried to grab his hand again. “You’re lying—“

“Victor—“ She pleaded gently and he brushed her off. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest as her own nerves threatened to choke her. The way he looked at her was painful but it was what she had feared. Hurt, anger and betrayal, all flickered in his grey eyes as his other features remained solid. She had tried to tell him, tried for days and now the truth had come out in the worst way possible—from the mouth of Elektra.

He recoiled from her—going back to something cold and menacing. Even if it was for only a brief moment, the thought of losing these last few weeks to Elektra’s lies had Belle grabbing fistfuls of his black shirt and pulling him back to her. She would tell him the truth, she would make him listen. It wasn’t too late if she grabbed him now.

Elektra used his distraction and turned enough to yank Anderson’s pistol from the holster at his hip. She screamed and raised the weapon, calling for Belle’s death as she held the gun between the zip tie and fired.

Everything happened at once. Anderson yelled, dropping his rifle and lunging for Elektra. Renard tackled Belle through the library door and into the hallway, blanketing her body with his own. He hunched his back to allow her room for air but he pinned her with his legs and cradled her head from the hardwood floor. Bullets peppered the wall directly above him and Belle buried her face in his chest as they shattered the vase on the end tables by the foot of the stairs.

“Fuck!” Renard grunted as his body jerked slightly, a bullet grazing his thigh. The pain only made him shield Belle more completely as he balanced on his forearms to keep from crushing her ribs.

Felix opened fire on Elektra and hit her like he was trained to do—two in the heart, one in the head. Perfect precision making her body jolt as she dropped to her knees and she stared blankly at the doorway, her mouth hung open as she fell face down onto the shag rug.

Belle breathed heavily below Renard as she tried to make her eyes focus enough to look at his face. He cupped her temple, her jaw, searched her over as the bullets stopped and his other men arrived. He was worried. Eyes wrought with fear as he checked her for injuries that weren’t even possible because of how quickly he had thrown himself down to protect her.

“I-I’m fine,” she panted, a little louder than normal as her ears continued to ring from the gun fire.

Renard leaned back on his knees and looked into the den. A small trail of blood ran down from the hole in Elektra’s forehead. It stained her lips and slowly dripped onto the carpet beneath her. The gun lay in front of her tied wrists, eyes unblinking, body ridged. Anderson pressed two fingers to her neck, a useless gesture in Belle’s opinion, only to confirm the obvious.

“She’s d-dead.” He cleared his throat and stayed kneeling by her body.

Felix made the sign for “bitch” at Elektra’s corpse before crossing the room and offering a hand down to Renard. He didn’t regret killing Elektra; that was his job. He would go down defending his boss and by extension, Belle.

Once on his feet, Renard stood silently watching the body of his ex-lover. Absent of life she was as cold as she had ever been and he felt—nothing. Shouldn’t he have felt something? Anything at all? They had learned nothing, she had mocked him, tried to kill Belle and it just seemed like a waste. Not a waste of the woman herself but a waste of his time. She bled on his floor and all he wanted was for someone to clean it up.

He nodded and snapped his fingers at a few of his men, “Get rid of her.” He didn’t care how. Throw her over the edge of the cliff, burn the rug, they had plenty of options, he just wanted it taken care of.

“Victor—“ Belle tried to reach for him again and he sidestepped out of her embrace to stalk across the room and up the stairs. She glanced at Felix and he looked at her gently, a small frown tilting his lips before he looked away. He had given her enough time to tell him Elektra’s words weren’t true but they were. When she lied to Renard, she lied to the others and her small betrayal seemed to grow as she realized it affected more than just her lover. She should apologize, this was the second time Felix had saved her in less than 24 hours and now any words she could have offered failed in comparison to his loyalty.

“I’m sorry.” She said as she turned and ran after Renard. She hurried up the steps, shoes catching on the stone as she tried to take them two at a time and failed miserably. Renard was quick and she checked the blue room before heading down the corridor to check the library, hoping he hadn’t receded all the way to the third floor.

This was a disaster. He was most likely furious and Belle feared that her one mistake could ruin anything they still had. She felt sick as she stopped in the library and spotted him on the balcony. The bay windows were wide open and he leaned against the stone railing, shoulders bent forward and eyes closed.

“Victor,” she started as she walked out to join him. She stopped, eyeing the small circle of blood on his thigh, soaked through the jeans where Elektra had clipped him. He was standing normally and didn’t pay it any mind meaning it was most likely just a scratch.

He pulled a cigarette from his lips and blew out a small trail of smoke. With a deep breath it curled from his nose and he glanced at her.

“You’re an agent.” He said flatly as he looked back out over the mountains and flicked the ash from the end.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry—I tried to tell you,” she stopped and started each sentence like she might cry. Looking at his pained face she knew that she could have.

“Agent 009?” He asked and she nodded. He let out a short laugh filled with bitterness. “That’s ironic.”

Belle looked down, twisting her hands and biting her lip hard enough to hurt. The first 009 had given him a bullet to the brain, it seemed fitting the second should put one in his heart. Inside the library, the small orange copy of their first book still sat on the table by the couch, well-worn and thoroughly loved as he often asked her to read his favorite parts. She would get about three pages in before he would rip the book from her hands and press her against the leather, making love to her like he had the first time.

“Victor-“

“I knew, Belle.” He cut her off quietly.

“W-what?”

He took a deep drag from his cigarette before stamping it on the banister and tossing it on the snow. He rarely smoked around her anymore—preferring the taste of her kisses over the taste of tobacco.

“I knew before today. Well, I suspected at least.” She started to ask how but he turned towards her, half leaning against the rail and continued. “I tried to have Felix steal your file. Got about half-way through it before MI6 threw up a firewall. The day you escaped you took out one of my guards. And yesterday in Istanbul—what quartermaster knows how to shoot like that?”

Belle blushed. It was almost a compliment. Renard was an intelligent man, it wasn’t surprising he had figured out her true cover. What was surprising was that he hadn’t killed her on sight for being what she was. But Belle had a feeling she knew the answer to that as well.

“The day I took you,” He started again. “I bet the man I needed was the little bastard you traded for?”

Belle nodded. Renard had had the real Q in his hands and these past weeks would have been quite different had he realized it then. He probably would have solved the disk before it was stolen but she would bet money he would have missed out on being read to and the regular sex. The thought was enough to make her smile a bit as the lump in her throat became smaller and she put her hand on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said again and he nodded.

“I know.” He put his hand over hers and nuzzled her cheek, wanting to be close to her again. He truly suspected Belle was an agent and hear it confirmed didn’t change anything. MI6 would still be looking for her and it’s not like he could take her back and demand a trade. With Elektra dead, running away with Belle was becoming easier and it gave him such happiness that he couldn’t justify feeling betrayed by her status with the agency.

“So, a double oh?” he whispered as he closed his eyes and breathed her in, moving closer to her lips.

Belle closed her eyes too, sensing him in front of her and nodded.

“That’s impressive,” he said and she smiled.

“I try to be.” She moved the centimeter forward and kissed him gently. He tasted of warmth, his usual clean taste masked by the lingering smoke and Belle tilted her head as he opened his mouth for her. She sucked his upper lip, cupping his face as she felt his arms wrap around her waist. This morning had happened too quickly and it felt right to slow everything down with her mouth pressed against Renard.

He held her close. Protected in the circle of his arms, she was as safe as she would ever be inside this mansion. Elektra had almost taken her from him again this morning and the thought made his chest ache as he threaded his fingers through her pony tail.

Belle jerked back from the kiss as their moment was interrupted by the sound of gun fire on the floor below them. Single pistol shots echoed through the stairwell and was soon followed by the rapid patter of machine gun fire.

“What now?” Renard said and cursed as he released Belle and ran back inside the library. He scooped up his radio. He called for Anderson, Felix and a couple other names that Belle recognized only in passing and there was no response. The small black box crackled quietly in his hand while they waited.

The moment of silence was cut off by more gun fire and the sound of breaking glass as someone down the hall yelled his name. Renard went to Belle and handed her the Colt. He trusted its accuracy and knew it wouldn’t jam on her.

“Stay here.” He handed her the walkie talkie before opening the side table drawer and pulling out his back up gun—a glock-19 that was about the size of Belle’s forearm.

“No—“ she went to him, shaking her head quickly. “No, I’m going with you.”

“I need you to stay here.” He took her radio and flicked the switch twice. “Stay on channel five. It will give you a direct link to me.” He didn’t want to have to deal with whatever was happening below them and worry about Belle at the same time. Keeping her in the library and armed was the best he could hope for.

“You know I can shoot—I can help—“

He shook his head. “Please—just stay. Please.”

Renard didn’t say it often, but he just pleaded with her twice. The worry in his eyes let her know that he wasn’t letting her out of that room until he knew what was going on. She nodded slowly.

“Fine—go. You have five minutes before I come looking for you.” She added stubbornly and he took it. With a quick kiss on her cheek he ran out the door, cocking the gun as he went and Belle waited in the center of the room gripping the Colt and the radio.

The gun fire had stopped. Belle forced her breathing to be even as she listened and waited. With Elektra dead the gun fire meant that the mole was in the house. Her accomplice knew he or they were destined to be caught now that they didn’t have her protection to fall back on. What if there was more than one? If Renard had underestimated Elektra and his entire payroll was under her control then he would need her help. She tried to reach him on the radio and it remained silent. Only two minutes had passed out of her promised five but she couldn’t risk it.

She clipped the radio to her jeans and clicked the safety on the gun before running out of the library and down the stairs. She avoided the main corridors, using the separate stair well to get to the ground floor. The shots may have stopped but the main hall was a mess. Shell casings were everywhere and the tables and pieces of the hardwood floor were splintered enough to make a fine layer of rubble beneath her feet.

The silence unnerved her and she pulled up the radio asking for Renard one more time. Still nothing. The dull echo of more gun fire came from behind her and the way it seemed to bounce off the stone let her know that something was happening outside. She turned to run out into the snow but stopped as she saw bodies lying in the hallway that led to the kitchen.

Romanov lay on his side, gun about five inches from his hand and useless. Eyes cold and blank Belle knew that if Romanov had anything to do with betraying Renard he had paid for it. If he was innocent, well, then he was still a prick but just a victim of the cross fire.

She jumped as the loud screech of a chair behind pushed aside and a groan of pain came through the kitchen. She ran, clutching the gun and praying it wasn’t Renard.

Belle stumbled, slipping in a small puddle of blood and catching herself on the door frame. It wasn’t Renard, but it was just as bad.

“Felix—“ she said as he looked up at her from the floor. She dropped to her knees beside him and started looking for his injuries. He grunted as she pulled his head into her lap and pushed aside his leather jacket. He was shot twice in his upper chest. Small, dime-sized holes looked harmless until she glanced at his back and saw the exit wounds were the diameter of a golf ball. He groaned again as she set him back down.

“Felix—Felix no. No. No. Look at me. Who did this?”

His eyes fluttered and she patted his cheek rapidly saying his name until he reopened them and looked at her. Her eyes burned with fresh tears as his blood soaked through her jeans, leaving her legs feeling warm and sticky.

“Who did this? You have to tell me.” They were running out of time. By now, she understood his basic signs, she knew the alphabet and if he could just spell her a name, the first few letters—anything—then maybe she could keep him alive until they found Renard.

He looked up at her, his cat-green eyes less dull than they normally were but still breath taking and Belle held him close. He closed his eyes again, coughing softly until blood speckled the edges of his mouth. She was losing him. It was too late and Renard was nowhere to be found. She pressed her forehead against his and said quietly over the gun fire outside.

“I’m sorry.” She apologized for being too late, for lying about being a double oh and for anything else that she would never have the chance to tell him. “Please stay with me.” She lost hold on her tears and they fell down her face as he grabbed her hand. Felix had taken care of Renard for years, saved her life twice since she came here and silently cheered in the background for the two of them to be together. And now it seemed like it had all been for nothing.

“B-Belle—“ He forced out. Without his tongue, her name was a short bark more than anything but she had heard him. He squeezed her hand and with his last breath gave her the pleasure of hearing her name on his lips. His voice matched those eyes and the tall body that was now ruined. Regal and deep, it stayed in her ears and she cried harder.

She held him for a long time, crying against his head as his body relaxed and he lost his grip on her hand. With the edge of her shirt she wiped the blood from his bottom lip and closed his eyes with her hand. Her radio crackled and she screamed before scrambling to pick it up.

_“Belle—Belle are you still in the library?”_

Renard’s voice was the best thing she could have hoped for and she held the button and responded through her tears. “N-No. I’m not—“

_“What? Why? Are you alright? Are you hur—“_

“Felix is dead.” She sobbed over the radio and Renard went silent. She let go of the button and held him closer in her lap, brushing his hair back from his face before she wiped her tears on the sleeve of her sweater.

Renard came back quietly, his voice strained with emotion while at the same time trying to keep their conversation concealed. _“Belle, listen to me. Go upstairs. Lock yourself in our room—“_

“I c-can’t leave him!”

_“Dammit! Do you hear me? Do you think Felix would want you dead too? Go!”_

Belle hesitated before lowering Felix to the ground and getting to her feet. Her jeans were stained a deep red and she wiped the stains from her hands as best she could before picking up the Colt and hurrying from the kitchen. She clutched the radio to her chest and hurried up the stairs towards their room on the second floor.

_“When you get there, lock to door. Put the desk chair under the handle and find the automatic rifle I keep under the bed.”_

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her and hurried faster. When she reached the room, she slammed the door shut and tossed the gun and radio on the bed, scooting the large chair across the floor with both hands.

“ _Belle—Belle—don’t—“_ he was breaking up and Belle stopped barricading the door to pick up the radio again.

“Victor? I didn’t hear you.” She said quickly and he tried once more.

_“Do not open the door for anyone but me. Do you understand? No one but me. Promise me. Promise me right now. No one but me—“_

He cut off and she shook it. “Victor! Victor?”

Nothing. The radio went silent and she suddenly felt very alone. The room was quiet and there were no more gun shots coming from downstairs. Before he cut out, he had been trying to warn her, trying to make her promise something but he had been covered by static and now her mind raced as she feared the worst. Was he okay? Did he share Felix’s fate? Without either of them by her side, Belle felt positively terrified. The other men liked her well enough but not enough to protect her without it being on their boss’s orders.

A knock came at her door and she dropped the gun. Her hands shook as her pulse raced and she looked at the door like it would attack her.

“Duck?” Someone said quietly and Belle made a small whimper of relief as she ran to the door. Anderson. Among the chaos he had found her and she flung open the door and gripped his arms tightly.

“A-anderson, thank God. F-Felix—he’s dead. Renard—I can’t—“

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He walked her back into the room and shut the door behind him. His rifle was across his back as usual and compared to the men downstairs he looked fine. His clothes were still in order and he wasn’t covered in any kind of dirt or blood. “What happened?”

“I can’t reach Renard. He could be hurt—we have to—“ She started to go for the door and he grabbed her arm.

“Are you kidding? He would kill me if I let you go out there—“

“We have to help him! Elektra could have a dozen of Renard’s men under her thumb. He needs us! I—“

The radio issued static and they both looked to it laying on the bed as Renard tried to come through again.

_“Belle did you hear me?! The mole--”_ He yelled frantically, out of breath from whatever he was occupied with on the other end.

Belle held the button and said back in the same tone, “Where are you? Let me come help—“

He was cutting in and out badly as something interrupted the frequency or he became too far out of range, which wasn’t likely due to the military grade devices. _“The—Elektra was with—don’t open the door—betrayed us—“_

“Victor, I can’t understand you!”

_“It’s Anderson!”_ He yelled and Belle’s heart dropped to her stomach. She heard the echo of the door being locked behind her and the static finally overcame his voice as he went silent and she was on her own. She glanced to the gun laying on the ground as the blood pounded in her ears and she heard Anderson’s boots walking up behind her. She lunged for the gun and he caught her around the waist, dragging her backwards as she fought him by twisting her torso and kicking her feet.

“Don’t do something you’re going to regret Belle.” He chided as he released her roughly and she stumbled to the ground far from the gun but closer to the locked door.

She glared at him, chest heaving and body shaking but not with tears or fear—with anger.

“It was you,” she said and he smirked, holding his hands out in front of him. It was a gesture that was very unlike the Anderson she knew and she began to think the Anderson she knew never existed.  “This whole time?”

He nodded and continued to look at her smugly, “Yes.” He laughed once. “You thought it was Romanov, didn’t you? That little prick couldn’t pull off near what I did these last few months. When Renard voiced your theory about him I was actually a little insulted.”

“Why?” She spat and he crouched in front of her.

“We’ll get to that. You see, it’s the best part. And I’d hate to tell you then have to tell you all over again when my men drag your lover up here.”

“What have you done with Victor?” Her glare faltered as she asked and she prayed that he was still alive.

“Nothing—yet.” He walked slowly to the edge of the bed and picked up the radio. His large hands snapped off the antenna and gutted the wiring before tossing it aside and rolling the small piece of plastic between his fingers. “You weren’t supposed to be involved, you know?” He turned and crossed his arms, “Why didn’t you let him take you back to London when you had the chance?”

“Too stubborn I guess.” She said flatly and she looked away from him.

“Oh, Belle don’t be like that,” he groaned and walked over to her again. “My issue is with Renard. I _liked_ you. I didn’t want to hurt you. But you forced my hand when you fell for him.”

Belle was quiet for a few moments before she raised her head. “Did you kill Felix?”

Anderson sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was calm and collected. Like he had already won and he was explaining to his unworthy opponent how he did it.

“Yes. I killed Felix.”

She bit her lip as it threatened to tremble. Felix’s blood was still warm on her clothes and Anderson was talking about him like it didn’t matter. She started again, speaking slowly as the pieces fell together in her mind. If she could keep him talking it might be able to buy her some time until she figured out her next course of action.

“When I took the bullet out of his shoulder—after your failed mission—was that you as well?”

Anderson chuckled and stood again, shaking his head. He pointed at her. “See, I told Renard—I told him from the day we brought you here that you were too smart for your own good. Felix was supposed to die in Romania, yes. It would have saved me the hassle from doing it later but he always was a stubborn bastard.”

Belle felt like she might throw up. She had told Renard that the incident in Romania didn’t feel right. Felix had been shot in the back. He was good at his job and you didn’t become head of an entire anarchy raid by allowing yourself to get shot from behind. But if it came from one of his own, even Felix couldn’t protect himself. He was lucky Anderson had missed.

Anger pulsed through Belle again as she got to her feet and went for Anderson. He out matched her in every way but she wanted her hands on him. She wanted him to pay. The fact that someone could be so disloyal made her skin crawl.

Anderson grabbed her and flung her off of him. She hit the dresser and stumbled and it gave him enough time to take his rifle off of his shoulder. When she turned around to go after him again he brought the butt of the gun down across her face and she dropped instantly.

Her nose erupted in pain but she didn’t feel any blood as a dull throb set in between her eyes.

Oh duck,” he said softly as he walked over to her. “I’m sorry. And I hope you know I mean that.”

Her vision swam and she tried to raise up and failed, falling back to the ground. She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell but couldn’t form the words as her eyes fluttered and she started seeing purple spots. He had hit her hard and she was going to pass out—something she couldn’t afford.

Renard’s gun lay a few inches from her hand and she tried to crawl slowly to it but Anderson kicked it from her grasp and scooped her up. The last thing she saw was his back as he threw her over his shoulder and the world was swallowed in darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter if everything goes right guys. I need to be strong. Hold me?


	16. From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell

 

This wasn’t the first time she had been tied to a chair. Belle’s eyes opened and closed, her vision swimming between the darkness and the room around her until the blurriness cleared and a deep throb set into her skull. Everything hurt. From the tension in her shoulders to the soles of her bare feet, she ached and for a moment she couldn’t think why.

In a rush of color, like a tape being rewound, it all came back to her. Renard. Felix and his blood on her lap. Anderson and the gun. Her blue room. Her eyes opened fully and she looked around. She was no longer in her blue room but a dark basement.

Damp concrete made her lift her feet slightly, they were frozen. The water on the floor had soaked through her fluffy, yellow sock and the material was rendered useless. The water had most likely come from the glowing tanks that lined the walls around her and cast everything in a sickly green color. She was not in the mansion—she had never seen this room before. Belle was only vaguely aware of the creatures swimming in the tanks as she yanked at the rope behind her back and worked her jaw around the gag between her lips. It was a small scrap of cloth that moved easily once she twisted her head and got it damp with saliva, freeing her mouth.

“You’re awake,” Anderson walked in and Belle turned as much as she could. “I was worried I hit you too hard. You’ve been out for hours, duck.”

She wanted to slap him every time he used her nickname. “Where’s Victor?” Her voice was raspy with hours of not being used and she swallowed hard.

“Are you dizzy? I didn’t—“

“What have you done with him?”

“If you would have just—“

“Answer me!” Belle yelled, jerking forward as much as she could.

He ignored her, walking across the room to pull a hose out of the largest tank against the back wall. The glass enclosure was the size of a small pool and stood about seven feet tall. It was now full and he tossed the hose carelessly in the corner. The eels, the tanks, the basement. Belle closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus, to control her racing heart and keep her voice steady as she asked again, “Where is Victor, Anderson?”

He left her then. With the tank full of water and Belle conscious, he left the room but left the door open behind him. A guard stood on each door, blocking the only two exits out of the large basement. Belle didn’t recognize either of them and focused on sizing them up and calculating what it would require to take them down. The pulsing ache through her head from the butt of Anderson’s rifle was making it difficult and she closed her eyes as her vision swam. Throwing up or passing out again was something she couldn’t afford.

The scuffling of feet let her know Anderson had returned and she jumped as something landed at her feet.

Renard looked like death warmed over. He was shirtless, cuffed and bleeding on the concrete in front of her and Belle whimpered quietly, pulling at her restraints. “Victor—“

“He’s alive. Now that you have him, can I speak without you interrupting?” Anderson took off his rifle and leaned it against the base of a tank. As he removed his jacket Belle took note of the double holster and matching wrist sheaths. He had been prepared and it had been all too easy to catch the both of them unawares and take over the mansion.

Renard moved onto his side, his already scared chest littered with fresh wounds and seeping blood down his pale skin. They were all shallow cuts, meant to hurt instead of kill, and as he moved the skin pulled tight and he groaned. He used the strength in his fingers to push against the floor and rose slowly, his balance being compromised by his shackled wrists but he managed to sit up at Belle’s feet.

He looked at her and before he half collapsed and caught himself with his head on her knee, panting heavily as any small movement cost him dearly.

She pulled against the rope wanting to wrap her arms around him, cover him with her body—anything. It was going to be alright. They could get out of this and she would patch him up just like she had before.

“Did they hurt you?” he said quietly, quick breaths gave way to shuddering ones as his pain subsided with his movements.

She smiled before her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

He nodded against her thigh, pleased that for the moment she was unharmed and he turned his gaze upon Anderson. Belle couldn’t take her eyes off Renard. However long she had been unconscious they had had him in the other room. From where he kneeled at her feet she could only see the back of his head. His chest had taken a lot of damage but his shoulders looked worse. Having always fought hand-to-hand, his chest had taken the damage of his dangerous life, leaving his back untouched and smooth—until now. Crisscrossed knife wounds covered his upper back in a sadistic display of Anderson’s artistic talent with a blade. Shallow, deep, short and long—they all bled and he shivered as the blood dripped and cooled, leaving his body damp and sticky. Belle felt sick as she tried to see past the blood and her heart mourned those perfect shoulders.

His arms were clean from what she could tell, the caked blood drizzled from his other wounds down the lengths of his biceps and stopping at his elbows. The metal of the handcuffs couldn’t hide where his wrists had rubbed raw. The skin was nearly gone in places and turning slightly purple as the blood dried and the bruises started to form. The metal links in the cuffs were bent from how hard he had been pulling. Renard was strong and the pain was so intense he had almost broken through steel. What the hell had they done to him?

“Let her go,” Renard started. His voice was solid, firm, the voice of the leader he was—not at all matching his broken body. “It’s me you want, Anderson. Belle has nothing to do—“

“You see, that would be true if you would had taken her back to London like you were supposed to.” He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare down his boss. “There was a plan Renard. Grab her, decode the disk, take her back or kill her.” With each step, he ticked it off on his fingers. “The plan did not end with you keeping her for your fuck toy.”

Renard clenched his fists but didn’t take any action as Anderson continued.

“However, I abandoned your little suicide mission long before you did.” He gestured to the two of them. “Oh yes, I knew what you had planned. Felix refused to believe but I knew. And I refused to be taken down like a lowlife under your payroll.”

Renard tried to watch Anderson as he paced idly while he talked but it wasn’t worth it. His head felt heavy and he looked at the floor as his shoulders slumped and he kept his temple against Belle’s knee. She was shaking, small enough that he would have never known had he not been touching her. If he ever got out of the handcuffs, Anderson was a dead man.

“So you went to Elektra?” he offered and Anderson froze at the sound of her name.

“She came to me.” He said quietly. “Shortly before Bond sank the submarine and the plutonium. Showed me what I could be. What we could achieve together.”

This story sounded familiar. Renard glanced up without moving his head and saw painted on Anderson’s face the same look he saw in the mirror every day over a decade ago. His former guard was a drowning man tricked by the siren that was Elektra King.

“I took care of her, hid her from the world. Until about a month ago. MI6 found Elektra because we wanted them to. She played the part beautifully too.” Anderson smiled fondly before his gaze turned cold and he crossed the room shoving his glock under Renard’s chin. “And then you _left_ her there! I almost killed you when we landed in Russia. And I should have for leaving her behind.”

He moved his gun and stood back up, “But she said we needed you alive. Needed Belle to crack the disk and attempt to steal the money.”

“And you believed her?” Belle spoke up and both men looked at her. “Was the great plan to use Renard to get rich quick and then go your separate ways?”

“No,” Anderson shook his head. “We would get rich and then leave—together.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Belle blurted before she could stop herself. Renard tensed at her feet trying to quickly figure out how he would protect her from Anderson should the man try and punish her for such a remark.

“It was perfect. It should have worked. We would get what we wanted and leave MI6 to finish you off or simply let the bullet end you.” He spoke to Renard first before looking to Belle and adding, “She loved me.”

The raw pain was so clear on Anderson’s face as he spoke of a dead woman. That was the only thing that kept Belle from laughing in his face.

“Elektra loved money, Anderson. She loved power. She _used_ people—“

“Stop it,” he cut her off. “When you stayed the plan had to change. We needed something that would take down the both of you. After a quick glance at your file and a week of searching, we found your dad.”

Belle went rigid, lips twisting into a frown as she forced herself to hear this part without crying. The list of his betrayal was getting longer by the minute; it shouldn’t have surprised her that he had a hand in this too.

“I was supposed to kill you, Duck. The plan was to get you out in the open, away from Renard and _bang—_ “ He snapped his fingers and shook his head slowly. “But I couldn’t do it. I could not take the shot. You wormed your way in with your little books and stupid socks and tamed the beast—“ he gestured to Renard. “And God damn it, I liked you. So, when Moe came this close to giving me away, it was easy to trade your life for his.”

Belle bit her lip hard as she remembered her father dying on the porch of that tiny café. The blood splattering her dress and the screams of the tourists as Renard and Felix shot their way out of Istanbul. Anderson’s hands were coated in the blood of Felix and now her father and it made her sick to look at him.

“Elektra didn’t buy that I missed. I never miss. But it was too late. The opportunity was gone.”

“Felix found Elektra in less than a day after Istanbul. Was that planned too?” Renard asked.

“It was,” Anderson nodded. “B-but she jumped the gun,” he rubbed his large hands over his eyes and tensed his shoulders. “She went for Belle too early—“

“She tried to kill me in a jealous rage,” Belle cut him off. Victor’s small kiss on the cheek had sent Elektra over the edge. She didn’t ‘jump the gun’—she knew what she was doing. She didn’t love you—“

“Shut up bitch,” Anderson pointed the gun at Belle and she went silent. Renard sat up a little straighter, knowing he couldn't stand before Anderson pulled the trigger, but he would try. “Felix killed her. He took her from me. _You_ took her from me.” He started to breathe harder as he lowered the gun. “And now I’m going to return the favor.”

He walked to the door and quickly left the room, barking orders at whoever was on the other side. Once he was gone, Belle pulled against the ropes, her skin burning as the top layer was irritated by the scratchy material. Renard turned on his knees to look at her, trying to keep his balance as he spoke quickly.

“Please tell me you still have the ring?” He asked. When she nodded, he continued. “Belle, you have to use the tracker. Anderson doesn’t know it exists. Push it now and we may have a chance if we can stall him.”

Belle stopped moving and shook her head. “No. No, Victor—we can’t.”

“Why?” He demanded. His eyes wide as she dismissed their only option of escape.

“T-they’ll find you.” She said quietly.

That stopped him. Even at the hands of their enemy, Belle’s first thought was of MI6 finally capturing Renard. She was right. If MI6 came to their rescue they would find him—he wasn’t leaving Belle behind just so he could make his escape. There was no way to know what would happen if the agency found him now. They could shoot him on sight, capture him but regardless of what they did to him—it meant they would find Belle. And that was more important.

“Belle,” he said softly and nuzzled his cheek against her knee. “Push it.”

Belle watched him gently, studying the line of his jaw and imagining that face at the mercy of Bond. They wouldn’t understand and would try to kill him. But what choice did she have? She felt along her finger and found the ring, held her thumb over the nub like Q had showed her and pushed it up firmly. As the tracker issued a small click Belle leaned forward and let out a quiet sob. That tiny clicked sealed their fate and whatever happened next would be her fault.

Renard kissed her knee. “That’s my girl.” His accent weighed heavy as his shoulders relaxed a little.

Anderson returned with two men behind him, both heavily armed and faces steeled with military roughness. The larger man, with hands that could have easily engulfed Belle’s thigh, stooped and grabbed Renard by the throat and yanked him away from Belle’s lap.

“No!” Belle yelled and jerked against the chair. Renard grunted as the man threw him down and pointed his rifle at his head.

“What a bad time to regain your feeling wasn’t it— _boss._ ” Anderson brought his boot down on Renard’s chest and waited until he doubled over to use his steel toe to kick him in the ribs. Renard remained quiet, refusing to issue even the smallest of noises as Anderson pummeled him. He wouldn’t let Belle hear him cry out.

“Stop it! Please!” Belle yelled and the men ignored her.

“You are a stubborn bastard you know that.” Anderson crouched and put his finger into one of the largest cuts on Renard’s left pectoral. The wound reopened as he forced his nail through the dried blood and prodded until Renard squirmed and breathed harder.

When he quit, Renard looked up at him panting quietly, “Is that all?”

Anderson’s face contorted into a fit of rage as he punched him hard enough that Renard spit blood. He grabbed his jaw and turned his face back to look at him as he snarled, “No it’s not all. You may not care what I do to you but you will care what I do to her.”

Renard’s eyes became panicked as Anderson stood and walked back to Belle. He cut her loose and dragged her to her feet. Renard got to his knees and the man behind him hooked his rifle under his chin, pressing on his windpipe to keep him in place.

“Anderson—no—stop—“ Renard tried as he spoke around the metal pressed to his skin.

Anderson grabbed Belle by the hair and pulled her in front of Renard. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate as she stumbled alongside him after hours of being tied in the same position. She fought him, scratched him when she could and tried to get enough leverage under her legs to break free but he was too strong. They made it to the tank and he pushed her up the stairs that led to the edge at the top of the enclosure.

Renard struggled, fought against the rifle and twisted his shoulders as he realized what Anderson intended to do. “Don’t—please—“

“You’re not used to being to one that is on your knees begging, are you Renard?” He locked his arm and Belle continued to struggle and he held her tightly against his chest. “I’m giving you a chance to say goodbye—something you didn’t give me when you killed Elektra.”

“Anderson—“ Renard growled and stopped moving as he heard the man cock the rifle under his neck.

He touched Belle’s hair and leaned his head against her temple breathing in her scent gently. “We were both better off when we didn’t have so much to lose. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I swear to God, Anderson, I’ll kill you—I’ll fucking kill you!” Belle heard Renard below them as Anderson breathed heavily behind her.

Belle gripped his arm around her chest tightly, eyeing the water and Renard as her pulsed raced and Anderson positioned her on the edge of the tank. She clawed at his hand around her throat and touched the scars on his fingers, remembering their conversation in the gym. He hadn’t burned his hand fixing the generator, he had burned it moving Elektra’s damn pets.

“God dammit! What do you want?” Renard yelled.

Anderson looked at him and shook his head sadly. “I want you to suffer like I did.”

With that he shoved Belle into the tank, pressing his foot into the back of her knee so she crumbled into the water as he pushed her. Renard yelled for her and struggled as she broke the icy water and Anderson slammed the metal plate over the tank to seal her in.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust but once they did Belle saw the water itself was clear, the green coming from the light under the glass, and she swam to the top with one stroke trying to find a gap at the surface for air. The waves rocked from her splashing and she pressed her lips to the bottom of the metal lid only to find the tank was full to the brim—she had no air. She pushed on the lid, used her strength and trying to gain leverage against the glass but slipping each time she pushed.

Everything was muffled but she could hear yelling outside the glass. Passed the sound of water in hear ears she heard Renard yelling for her and she gave up on finding oxygen to swim to the front. She pressed her hands to the glass and looked at him. Pounding on it would be useless and it would use up energy that she didn’t have as she focused on letting out her last few bubbles slowly.

“Belle!” Renard fought. He fought hard and it took both of Anderson’s men to hold him back. He thrashed and pulled and Anderson had the nerve to ignore his pain completely as he watched Belle drown slowly.

Her eyes fluttered as the weight of the water pressed upon her lungs and a couple of bubble escaped from her lips. This was it. She was dying and all she could think of was Renard. She prayed he wouldn’t be stupid, that he would escape and not waste time trying to revive her water logged corpse. Her hand slipped from the glass and she forced it to stay a little longer, frozen as she tried to reach through the tank for him. She wanted him to look at her, to be able to fall into oblivion with his image seared into her mind.

He turned as if he had heard her thoughts and she closed her eyes, letting the pressure of the water take her over.

The hand cuffs on Renard snapped. He had pulled so hard and for so long that the metal gave under his strength and the men holding him stumbled in surprise. He grabbed the rifle that was against his neck and jerked hard enough that the man fell to the ground. Before the guard could react Renard shot him, twice between the eyes before turning on his heel and doing the same to the second.

Anderson lunged for his own gun on the table and Renard took aim.

“Get down!”

Another man yelled as shots rang out and a bullet zipped passed Renard and lodged itself in the concrete wall closest to his head. He dropped, keeping the gun and rolling away from Anderson. Bond walked through the door, blood staining his usual pristine, grey suit. He ducked as well as Anderson fired blindly into the room, not caring who or what he hit.

Renard left Bond to deal with Anderson as he pressed his back to one of the side tanks and scooped up a nearby shot gun. The double barrel would pack a punch and as he loaded each shell he got an idea. He hurried back to the main tank and the sight of Belle floating limp in the water made him feel like he wanted to die. With shaky hands, he raised the shotgun and pumped it firing almost point blank into the glass. The shell lodged in the glass and he pumped it again, firing in the same spot over and over as the bullet shards cracked the glass.

He fired his last shot and the glass shattered. It twinkled to the floor as gallons of water rushed from the tank in a raging river that quickly emptied the enclosure. The force of the water knocked him off his feet and he lost the gun. It took all he had to stay on his hands and knees as he tried to keep from swallowing the water that engulfed him before dissipating into a thin layer along the entire basement.

Belle lay on her side, hair covering her face as her arm lay extended out to him. Her body was limp and he crawled to her quickly.

“Belle—Belle,” he said quickly. She stayed motionless in his hands as he rolled her over and moved the hair from her face as it clung oddly to her skin along with her clothes. The remnants of the rope were still around her wrists and he ripped them off and tossed them aside as he checked for a pulse.

There was none. He couldn’t feel the flutter of her heart and there was no air coming from her lips or nose as he bent over her to check.

“Fuck,” his lips quivered as he pulled her torso into his lap and shook her. Her head lolled against his arm and he shook her more. “God dammit, Belle. Wake up. Come on. Come on.”

“Renard,” Bond said sternly, raising his gun.

James left his suit jacket on the floor with a wet slop as he made his way to Renard. The rushing water had been enough of a distraction that he had managed to take down Anderson and he had the rest of his team sweeping the perimeter.

Renard ignored him, setting Belle down gently and moving her arms to her sides so he could get to her chest. He went to his knees and put both hands above her breast bone, pushing hard once, twice, trying not to break anything in the process. He counted a handful of compressions before he bent and put his lips to her mouth, exhaling deeply.

“Renard,” Bond warned again, keeping his gun pointed at the man’s head but not moving to stop him.

Belle stayed still, her blue lips turning a pink color once again and Renard breathed on them and pumped her chest with all he had.

“Belle,” he shuddered. His shoulders ached and his hands cramped as he stilled his movements and gripped her shoulders. “Don’t do this. Listen to me.”

More MI6 agents entered the room and Bond held up his fist, stilling them silently. He kept his gun pointed at Renard but the man wasn’t a threat as he focused all of his attention on the woman in his arms. He let out an incoherent yell—a mix of her name and his pain--and slammed his fist into the concrete. He did it again and again until his knuckles bled.

“From day one—“ He said through gritted teeth, coming down from his rage. He swallowed hard and gathered her up into his arms, letting her head rest on his chest. “You’ve been a pain in my ass. You’re stubborn and—and hardheaded—I have to find places to put all those damn books—you argue with me! Felix said—dammit he was right. Right about everything.”

He moved her bangs aside and straightened her shirt, not knowing what else to do with his hands while he told her everything he had been too afraid to say. But Belle was right, she wasn’t Elektra and he should have swallowed his fears and said everything when she could still hear him.

“We were supposed to burn. Burn together,” he bit his lip and hung his head as he quoted their book back to her and tried to control his tears. Renard hadn’t cried in over a decade and he didn’t want to start now, but holding Belle’s still body—he couldn’t help it.

“You didn’t want me to say it when we were upstairs but I’m going to. So if you don’t want to hear it then wake up and stop me. Wake up and stop me, Belle!” His yells echoed in the quiet basement and he shook her before letting burying his face in her neck to muffle his ragged breathing.

“I love you,” he said quietly against her cheek. She couldn’t cut him off this time. She was going to hear it whether she wanted to or not. He said it again into her mouth and he breathed into her one more time.

Renard pulled back in time before Belle choked up water onto his chest and her eyes shot open. Her body shook with high pitched wheezes that seemed thunderous in the quiet basement. She looked around, taking in the water, Bond, the glass and finally focusing on Renard’s face.

“Victor,” she sputtered and he held her tightly, burying his face against her neck again. She let him hold her, blinking the water from her lashes as Bond approached them and pressed his gun to the back of Renard’s head.

“Get up, slowly.” Bond said and Belle looked at him.

“James—“

“We all thought you were dead,” He said to her before pushing the gun forward a little bit.

Renard kissed Belle’s cheek once before her sat her down gently. He knew this was coming. Their rescue party had made it in time and now he had to play by their rules. Bond hadn’t shot him on sight and that was more than he had hoped for a few moments ago.

He pulled Renard to his feet and passed him off to another agent, who cuffed him roughly.

Belle got to her feet and stumbled before James caught her. She glared at the way the agent handled Renard and she tried to shove James aside.

“Easy—he’s not resisting!”

“Belle, it’s okay,” Renard said gently as they pulled him from the room and out of her sight.

“Don’t make me cuff you too,” Bond lowered his voice and put his arm around her to help her stand. If she went for Renard she didn’t leave her fellow agent with any options. They would have to restrain her. Renard was still the villain in their books even if it was a lie.

“It’s a long way back to London,” Bond started as he helped her limp from the basement. “You can talk on the way.”

* * *

 

Belle sat in a straight backed chair in one of the monochrome interrogation rooms. Her clothes had been replaced with baggy grey sweats from the training room and a standard black t-shirt with the agency’s emblem stamped on the right side of her chest. A doctor had tried to give her a quick physical but she had waved him away and James stuck her in here until they located M.

She hadn’t seen Victor since the rescue—a team of agents taking him separately from her as they made the journey back to London. She stared at the table top as she gathered her thoughts-- compiling an argument that would allow her to see Victor, to defend him and possibly build a case they would be willing to listen to.

The door opened and M walked in, quickly pushed aside however by a disheveled Q.

“Belle,” he hurried into the room and hesitated before hugging her tightly. “Jesus Christ, you--” He squeezed her shoulder's words weighing heavy on his tongue and finally settling with, “You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell.” She sat back down quietly and waited until Bond shut the door behind M.

The old woman sat in front of her, hands poised like a diplomat dealing with a fragile situation. Where there once was respect for her boss, Belle now held fear. She knew what MI6 was capable of doing—what M was capable of doing—when it came to peoples lives. If they wanted to, if Belle didn't do as they asked, they could destroy her and Renard.

“Q,” M said sharply and the smaller man paused before walking out the door after giving Belle another hopeful look. His eyes said to tell them everything, don't be difficult, it was the only way things could be as they were. Belle hated that she was going to have to disappoint him.

“A month, from yesterday. That's how long you've been gone. How ever did you survive?”

Belle had stopped counting shortly after Renard gave her the blue room. She thought she was going to die in that mansion so at first counting had been pointless—now she just didn't think about it.

“It wasn't that difficult actually.”

“Did he hurt you?” Bond chimed in, moving from his spot on the wall.

“No.”

“You declined the physical.”

“I did.”

Bond stared at her like she had grown a second head, like he couldn't figure out exactly what to do with her or what to ask next. She hadn't told him anything on the trip back to London. Instead she feigned exhaustion and pain well enough that he left her alone to rest. But now they expected everything—every gritty little detail about Renard and her month in Russia.

“009, you are very important to our file against Victor Zokas,” M leaned back and took a manilla envelope from Bond before pressing the button on the recorder beside Belle's forearm. “Tell us everything.”

Belle stared at the recorder—the small grey box that would be used later to keep Renard locked up for good, or worse. She looked at her boss and Bond. No matter what she did, someone was going to get hurt.

“What do you want to know?” she said quietly.

The two in front of her looked relieved. Bond's shoulders slumped and M leaned forward.

“Where was his mansion?”

Belle shook her head. They had hardly left and when they did, she hadn't paid attention to signs or anything that would have been of any use to the agency. “I don't know. Russia. That is the best I can give you.”

M looked displeased but tried again, “Who did he trade with? Suppliers? Partners?”

“He had business in Hong Kong once.” It was nothing. She didn't have names or serial numbers—nothing. Renard did his business in the dark and left her out of it, even after they started sleeping with one another. He protected her. And now she had nothing to give M. Was it for her safety or was it because he didn't trust her to not betray him? The thought caused a sharp ache to settle into Belle's chest.

“What did he want with, Q?” M said, desperate for any kind of information.

Now that she did know. Belle looked at her hands, straightened her mother's ring and then shook her head once more. “I don't know.”

“I don't believe you.” M snapped.

Bond leaned on the table and narrowed his eyes at her, “Belle, he had you for a month. He thought you were Q. You have to know what he wanted. Did he accomplish it--”

“No,” Belle shook her head.

“Then what was it?”

“I don't remember. He gave up--”

“You're lying. A month and you have nothing to give us? You're protecting--”

“He didn't—”

“Belle,” James spoke this time, trying for softness while M remained cold.

Belle bit her lip and continued to shake her head. What difference would it make? They would execute Renard, they would give her an honorable discharge and none of it would matter. Renard was going to die and she was going to lose her job. Agents who could have compromised any information in the hands of the enemy did not stick around once they returned home. This is what she had feared. She shouldn't have pressed the tracker. It saved her life but at what cost? There was no getting out of Russia, there never was and the thought made Belle's heart race and her blood pound in her ears.

“What do you want me to say?” Belle stood up and crossed her arms against the baggy shirt, trying to look as intimidating as James did. “Do you want me to say he hurt me? Let his men defile me? Do you want me to sit in the corner and rock slowly while I cry like Elektra did?”

“Belle, don't do this--”

She looked at M now, hoping that the rage she felt within her stomach reached her eyes. “Because I won't. I refuse. Renard was good to me. And you have to wrong man. James shot the one you want and Elektra King is dead.”

“Elektra is dead? How do you--”

“I was there. And no, Renard didn't do that either.”

M was quiet for a handful of moments. “Agent French, sit down.” When Belle did, she continued. “I find it very hard to believe you have nothing to contribute. As a double oh, under her majesty the queen, you are bound by duty to tell me everything you know about Victor Zokas. And I mean everything. Failure to do so is treason--”

“Treason.” Belle scoffed. M was being formal. She was loosing her patience with Belle and was going to start throwing God and England in her face. Belle was having none of it. “You're one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” M's featured thinned, body rigid.

“Orphans make the best recruits. Isn't that what you always say?” Tears burned the edges of her eyes and Belle bit her lip hard enough that the pain held them at bay. “My father was alive. This whole time. And you knew. The agency knew.”

M didn't say a word and that was answer enough.

“It doesn't matter now. And I have nothing more to say.” Belle stood again and M followed suit so fast her chair shrieked against the floor.

“Where do you think you're going?”

Belle ignored her, looking to Bond and saying as calmly as she could. “Where is Victor?”

Bond stared her down. But it wasn't a glare or something cold, it was as if he was trying to figure her out—waging a war inside himself that was bound to get messy if he kept it up for more than a moment. He watched her closely and Belle fought the urge to shrink back under his scrutiny. Bond was her friend, but under no circumstances would he just open the door and take her to Renard. And she couldn't stay here while they did only god knew what to him in a different part of the agency.

Bond leaned over his shoulder and said quietly, “Can you give me a minute?”

M looked outraged. Torn between slapping her agent and barking back a protest. Looking at Belle before snapping her mouth shut, she glanced at her delicate watch, saying curtly, “You have five minutes.”

As the door clicked behind her Bond sat back down. Belle felt silly standing and followed suit slowly. They were wasting time—precious time that she could be using to find Renard. James spoke while she watched the clock and spun her mother's ring around her finger nervously.

“What the bloody hell happened to you up there?” He lowered his voice. The room was not bugged—it didn't even have a camera in the corner—but the conversation suddenly felt very intimate with the absence of M.

What could she say? If she told the truth—she had fallen in love with a world class criminal—there was a large chance he wouldn't believe it and have her committed. Some part of her believed she deserved to be committed—no sane person did that, surely. She bit her lip and gave it a shot.

“I'm not Elektra King. I am not another case for MI6 to probe and study.” She looked at him then. “But you're wrong about him—about Renard.”

“Belle--”

“No—just listen.” A deep coil of anger had wound within her stomach and Belle grabbed it. She held on tight and refused to let James get the upper hand. “My whole life I've been running. I ran from my father, from his housewife dream for me. I ran for the agency, for queen and country. I've killed, I've stolen--”

“We all have made sacrifices--”

“I'm done making them.” Belle snapped. She closed her eyes and took a breath. “With Renard—I stopped running. He didn't ask me to do what England has asked--”

“No of course, instead of asking you to saving lives, he asked you to--”

“Stop it!” Belle slammed her hand on the table. She quickly rubbed it, shaken by her own outburst.

Bond waited for her breathing to slow down before he leaned in. “If you don't give me something, when he goes down, you go down. I can't watch you do that. Not you. And you expect me to believe that you would take this--” he moved a hand out and she couldn't bring herself to look into his crystal blue eyes. “You are going to give up all of this—for him?”

“You gave it all up once too, James.” Bond sat up straight as his jaw grew rigid and Belle kept the upper hand. “What makes Vesper any different?”

“That bitch is none of your concern--”

“That— _bitch--_ ” Belle lowered her voice not wanting to rile Bond with the name. “Was the reason you hung up the badge. The reason all of England almost lost its best agent. Don't sit there and tell me she didn't mean something.”

“That file—how did you--,” Bond whispered.

“I read too much.” Belle said quietly. “Vesper ended. But for a moment—for a brief shinning moment—it was everything you wanted. Wasn't it?” She reached across the table and gripped his hand. “Wasn't it?”

He was quiet for what felt like hours before he said, “What are you saying?”

“You know what I'm saying.” She squeezed his hand as her lip quivered and her voice threatened to crack. “Renard is my Vesper—my chance.” She stopped, not trusting herself not to cry. She wouldn't beg, wouldn't fall to her knees and scream. That's not what Renard would have wanted. What happened now was up to Bond and she looked at him waiting for either salvation or damnation.

“I could lose my job.”

Belle let out a soft laugh of surprise and fought back her tears. “Like M would get rid of you.”

He placed his hand over hers and made her look up. The only sound in the room was the quiet, rhythmic ticking of the clock and he allowed the noise to fill the space. With his free hand, he slid his Beretta 418 across the table. “You have three minutes before the systems shut down and seven minutes before Q shuts off your pass codes. You know where they have him.”

Belle's hand closed around the gun as her heart thudded beneath her chest. Her mind raced, mapping out the path to Renard's holding cell and the quickest way off the premises. James squeezed her wrist and brought her back to reality. He handed her the silencer and his laminated badge.

“Make it look convincing.” He released her and stood slowly, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket.

Belle slipped the gun into the waistband of her sweats and walked around the table to look up at him with a small smile. “Don't forget me?”

“Couldn't if I tried,” James chuckled and forced his arms to stay at his sides.

Belle wanted to hug him, to send him off with what their partnership meant to her. But there wasn't time, their five minutes was coming to a close and M would be coming back down the corridor. With as much courage as she could muster, Belle pulled her arm back like she was stringing a bow and released, punching James across the jaw and knocking him over the chair. Her heart told her to apologize but her mind told her to run. And as she threw open the door, that's exactly what she did.

Bond's badge, like hers, was level two clearance. It would unlock any door in the agency and get through most of the encrypted files in the computer system. Doors clicked open as she rounded the hallway and down the stairs, clumsily taking them two at a time in her bulky sweats.

Renard would be on the bottom floor, away from unsuspecting personnel and people that casually worked within intelligence. She stopped, pressing herself to the wall outside of the nearest holding cell and sizing up the single guard they had placed in front of the door. She calmed herself, returning her breathing to normal and trying to appear at ease as she turned the corner and walked towards the guard.

“Agent 009.” She flashed James' badge, too quick for the guard to see the photo. “I need to have a word with Zokas.”

The guard straightened but shook his head, “Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't do that.”

Her hands shook, if he wouldn't let her get to Renard, if she couldn't get passed the damn door—how did she ever expect to make it out of the building? She raised Bond's gun from her waist and pointed it at the man. “Move.”

He lunged for her. Did what he was trained to do and tried to take her down. But Belle had better training and dodged him with ease, bringing her knee up into his stomach and her elbow down hard on his back. She ripped the radio and gun from his belt and threw them against the wall while he curled into a gasping lump.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she shot once into his knee. The silencer made a soft ping that was soon covered up by his yells. The knee would heal, he'd get a pay raise more than likely and it also meant he wouldn't stand in her way once she had Renard.

Her badge got her through the door and into the holding cell—a small dismal box that needed better lighting—and she hurried inside.

“Victor!”

“Belle--” Renard got up as quickly as he could, still in the state he was when they had left Elektra's lair. Covered in his own blood and damp with eel-water, he hurried to her and check her over quickly.

“We have to go--”

“What the hell did you do?” He saw the gun, Bond's badge and as the sirens went off within the building a small smirk curled onto his battered face. “That's my girl.”

The intercom knew they were loose and was in the process of warning all personnel within the building. Belle stumbled as she scooped up the guard's pistol and Renard steadied her before taking the gun for himself.

He checked the clip, before securing the chamber and following beside her down the fire exit stairwell. “What's the plan?”

“Honestly?” She flinched back as she shot the lock on the door that led out into the back street. “I don't have one.” Renard followed her out, biting through his pain enough to jog beside her down the empty alley and into the bustling London street.

* * *

 

Bond stood watch from M's open office window, arm rested comfortably on the ledge as the rest of the building fell apart behind him. His other hand cradled his jaw as his boss barked orders and used all five-foot of herself to curse profoundly.

Renard and Belle were not hard to spot. Bond was trained to see the impossible and Renard was covered in blood—he just prayed he was the only one paying attention to notice them running through the masses.

“How did this happen!” M shrieked to no one in particular.

“She's a hell of a woman,” Bond said quietly as he watched a mass of brown curls disappear down the steps of the Tube.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is complete on my computer and I will post the final part tomorrow. This is nuts. Hope you guys enjoy. Thanks again to Beeeinyourbonnet for beta-ing this chapter. She's amazing guys.


	17. Epilogue

 

Belle checked her reflection once more in the pocket mirror before tossing it back into her bag with a frustrated sigh. This was never going to work. She looked ridiculous. This was never going to work but it was their last stop—their last thing to complete before everything was put into motion. Such a large task and it was all hers. Their future sat in her tiny hands and she gripped it tightly.

“Miss--? Miss—I'm sorry, I cannot remember your name.”

“I didn't give it.” Belle said simply and the stout man behind the desk nervously readjusted his glasses and nodded quickly.

“Of course,” he dismissed his own insolence quickly and focused on pleasing his new high-end customer. “What can I do for you today—madame?”

Belle pulled a folded piece of paper from her bag and slid it across the oak and into his hands. Renard's efficient, slanted, script could be read upside down and she crossed her ankles, hooking her heels around one another—back straight.

“I need the amount at the top divided and transferred into these six accounts. The routing number are in blue and the account name is in red. Shouldn't be any trouble.” She tried to seem curtly, stationed—both were things she was not—and the banker seemed to be falling for the act completely.

“Ah, yes. That is very routine madame. I can have it done in about a minute. Let's see here,” Belle glanced around the large open office, full of expensive desks and other wealthy clients, while the man clacked away at his computer. “There you are.” He popped open a tab and clacked some more. “I need the password.”

Belle's polite smile faltered. She removed her sunglasses from their perch atop her head, wanting something to do with her hands, as she quietly answered him. “It's—it's Felix. F-E-L-I-X.”

More clacking.

“Thank you. And that goes there. And there you are. And--” His monologue went on as he moved her money around and Belle sighed with relief when he jammed the enter key with pride. “Viola! All set. Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you.” Belle shook her head, smoothing her skirt as she stood and didn't offer to take his outstretched hand. She had a deadline to meet. As she turned on point and walked out of the lobby, she could hear him calling his thanks back to her as well. With that amount of money, if she stayed he probably would have kissed her feet.

The brisk breeze blew in from the ocean and brushed against her face as she left the bank. It was beautiful here and the cobblestone streets filled with tourists and mopeds and the fountain at the base of the steps was begging for her to sit and read. Perhaps some other time. She hurried across the street, waving politely to a taxi that allowed her to cross and her ear buzzed quietly.

“ _Get everything you need?”_

“Yes.” The bag on her arm was heavy, holding her change of clothes and the folders she had grabbed from the safety deposit box, and she adjusted it before turning towards the docks.

“ _And you're sure?”_

“Yes, positive.” She insisted. The wooden planks that lined the steps to the port were worn by the salty air and she slowed down only to insure that her heel wouldn't get caught in a troublesome crack or hole. The water was a blue like she had never seen before, reflecting the sun with shimmering glints that bounced with each wave. Gulls called to one another as they rode the breeze coming in off the ocean and dove for fish closer to the marina. The view was lovely, but her feet quickened when she saw—him.

Her ear continued to speak quietly and she forced her pulse to stop racing and focus on the man on the radio and not her lover on the dock.

“ _You know, after this, if I see you again—I have to bring you in.”_

“I know--”

“ _And you're sure this is what you want?”_ He had asked the same question five times and she was now sure he was just buying time so she didn't cut off his feed.

“Goodbye James.” She whispered softly into the earpiece as she pulled it from her ear and dropped it to the concrete. It crushed beneath her shoe with a hushed crack and was silenced for good. She leaned down and slipped off her heels, tucking them haphazardly in the bag before setting off in a dead sprint.

She ran. Not for her life, not because she was in danger, but for the pure ecstasy of reaching her target disheveled and out of breath. She fell into his arms, flailing limbs and uncoordinated speed, and he caught her with a stumble and a tight grip.

Renard looked the same, leather jacket over tight, black crew-cut shirt and jeans. His hair was still close to his head and prickly but not the buzzed cut that he favored as Belle had convinced him to leave it be for the time being. As she hugged him, her hand ghosted over the Colt that was tucked in his jeans under the shirt. It was nice to know some things never changed.

He kissed her, filling his arms and hands with her body and hair and came up short.

“What is this?” His fingers threaded through her short blonde hair and his face looked like he had been hit by a truck.

“It's just till we leave port. Bond thought it was a good idea--”

“I don't like it.” He growled. Of course it had been Bond's idea.

“It's not permanent.” She touched his cheek gently and went on her tip toes to kiss his slightly drooped eye. He closed them and held her tighter. They had what they needed, pulled off the impossible and now was not the time to be complaining about her hair.

Her lips against his face were soft and he tilted his head, pushing closer like a lap dog begging for more. Her affections left him tingling, his feeling growing strong each day she continued to love and reawaken his world. However, the bullet still remained and both of them knew that it needed to go. Once MI6 was off their tail, Renard had a contact around the gulf and with Belle's insistence, he had scheduled the operation.

“Where are we going?” She pulled back enough to look him in the eye.

“Where ever you want. The world is yours.” He kissed her hand and rubbed her knuckles idly with the pad of his thumb.

“But it's not enough--”

“Don't start that--” He chuckled and she cut him off again with her lips. It was good to hear such a noise come from him and she swallowed it happily before letting out a delighted squeak when he scooped her up.

The world at their feet and MI6 at their back, it felt right to be in Renard's arms.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. My first completed fic. It all seems very surreal. Like, what do I do now?! Where do I go from this point?! Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for all of your reviews and good wishes and a giant Thank you to Beeeinyourbonnet for beta-ing the majority of the fic. Notice how it got better after like chapter 5? haha. There is your happy ending you guys and well...I guess I have to tell you the good news...There is going to be a sequel...

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I do not own James Bond/Anything created by Ian Fleming. Nor do I own Once Upon a time or any of its stuff either.
> 
> There. There is not that many fics for RenBelle out there so this is just something I had to get out there because of my intense James Bond/Rumbelle feelings as of late. haha If it seems to go over well, then Ill keep going. Let me know guys!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tie Me Up & Lick Me Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/961294) by [Thatlassiegotglassed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatlassiegotglassed/pseuds/Thatlassiegotglassed)




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